


The Lion's Capture

by Zebeyithra



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: After Inquisition, Angst, Blood, Captured, Crack, Death, F/M, M/M, Mages, Magic, NSFW, Orlais, Pain, Red Lyrium, Red Templars, Sexual Intercourse, The Winter Palace, Torture, chained, corypheus wins, cullen's daughter, sideways frickle frackle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebeyithra/pseuds/Zebeyithra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor has failed.<br/>Post Inquisition, so *spoilers*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lion's Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Something I started while thinking "What would happen if my Inquisitor was poisoned with Red Lyrium?"  
> I'm thinking 3 parts.

  Chains hung from Cullen’s sore wrists, chafed and bloody from hours of struggling. They clanked dourly as he shifted in the shadowed corner he had finally fallen into. The only light came from a tiny opening towards the top of the wall, casting a long white moonbeam across the floor. It glinted off the bars of his enclosure. Silver and cold, he kept far from the entrance regardless of the length of the shackles. 

  “Place the Lion in a cage. We will deal with him later,” Corypheus had ordered coldly upon Cullen’s capture. He had stayed on the run for years, alone save the occasional meeting with Leliana and Josephine. The Inquisition had broken with the capture of the Herald. Poisoned with red lyrium, it had taken little effort for Corypheus to control Lady Trevelyan, forcing her to open a rift above Skyhold. The last time Cullen had seen her, she lay broken at the feet of the Elder One, screaming for him to run. 

  Corypheus, drunk off his victory, turned his new weapon on Ferelden, and then Orlais. The Winter Palace was turned into a veritable fortress, towers of the infernal red stone growing into the walls. The few reports that escaped the carnage all said the same things–The Herald was the Elder One’s thrall. Upon their arrival in Halamshiral, Corypheus had forced Lady Trevelyan to attack her cousin, the newly appointed Emperor Gaspard. In a moment, she had turned the royal into a statue of glowing stone. He now stood in the foyer, greeting any who dared to enter the once marvelous palace. Corypheus had the Herald do the same to any who opposed him. A few Orlesian nobles and a Fereldan Bann now held vigil next to Gaspard, a spot of honor left for King Alistair and his Warden Queen. The Herald had, in a moment of strength, fought back against Corypheus, giving the King enough time to disappear into the Hinterlands. The Herald’s screams had echoed in the hills until the birds took up the cries for their own. 

  A pair of Red Templars marched past Cullen’s cage, pausing long enough to laugh at the once Commander. They had stripped him of his armor and cloak, leaving only his breeches. One had thrown him a threadbare sheet before leaving, which now lay across Cullen’s shoulders. He had been fed occasionally, as if someone remembered him every so often. One night, a cloaked figure had left him nearly a full meal, stolen from a dinner table on a silvery plate. His reflection was warped in the metal, but he could see how years of running had aged him. 

  His stubble had grown out, not quite a full beard, and his hair had grown long. Wrinkles ran along his features like small creeks. 

  “You almost look Fereldan, Cullen,” Leliana had smiled on their last encounter. Josephine had fretted about him before Leliana held the tiny Antivan woman back. “He’ll blend in better, Josie.”

  From far above, a thin voice sang. The tune was barely loud enough to reach his cage, but it was familiar and comforting. An old Free Marcher lullaby, he remembered hearing it during his years in Kirkwall. Some nights, the voice would sing without purpose, merely playing out snippets of melodies barely remembered. Cullen had thought it might be a bird until one night, nearly early morning, it began to sing the Chant of Light. The voice was only able to get out a few stanzas before Corypheus had roared. Cries echoed out across the grounds for the rest of the day.

  Cullen found himself mouthing along to the tune, the words slowly returning to him. 

  “Do you remember the paths where we met? Long, long ago, long, long ago. Ah, yes, you told me you’d never forget.” His lips cracked as he let the melody pass, echoing slightly off the stone walls. He sang in harmony with the voice, letting his body relax against the cold stone behind him. Hours into their distanced lullabies, the voice finally stopped, a door creaking shut far above him. Tears pooled in his eyes. He was alone.


	2. The Owl's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen discovers a secret in his captivity. Diana gets her hands dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this chapter is MUCH darker. Warnings for blood, violence, brief cursing, suicidal thoughts. This what you get between hours during a 12 hour work day.

  "Where did you hear that song?" The dungeon of the Winter Palace had been nearly silent for weeks, save the growling of Cullen's nearly empty stomach and the nightly serenades from high above. This voice was new and prefaced only by a set of light and tiny footsteps. Cullen kept his head hung low even as he heard them approaching, letting whomever it was come up to the metal bars. The chains hung limp against the wall, metallic arms at rest. The small person coughed, waiting for a response. Cullen continued humming the tune to some ballad, remembering cold drinks and happier company. This impasse lasted several long minutes with Cullen humming and the small person waiting until they sat cross legged at the door.

  Cullen paused, shrugging the discomfort from his shoulders. His wrists were caloused from ages of struggling, a slight tingle in his left fingers finally making him cease. The small figure seemed to stir, pulling closer to the bars. From the edge of his vision, they seemed little more than a halo of hair and a pair of short legs. He sighed deeply and began to sing quietly, barely letting his lips form the words.

  " _Oh, Sera was never an agreeable girl-_ "

   "Where did you hear that song, Ser?" A pair of tiny hands wrapped slender fingers around the bars, pulling the figure to the edge of the freshly landing moonlight. A deep chuckle broke through Cullen's throat, almost a growl in his dry mouth.

  "This... This is no place for a child." The figure gasped, pulling themself up by the bars until they stood on their tiny feet. He could practically hear the frustration in the small figure as hands flew to their waist.

   "I can go wherever I please, Ser! You don't scare me!" They stomped their foot, a cloud of dust rising from the motion. Cullen smiled a little, the action cracking his bottom lip near his scar. He waited a moment longer, then pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawling towards the front of his cage. The child backed away, obscured by the darkening shadows, only the tips of delicate shoes peeking into the moonlight.

   "Maybe you should be. Don't you know what they call me?" He asked slowly, leaning in. He sat on his heels, chains clanking as he raised his arms to rest his wrists between the bars. His forehead pressed against the cool metal, giving some release to his blossoming headache. The child's silhouette gave him the impression of a noble, head high and shoulders square above a bell-shaped skirt. Her hands gripped at the edge of her skirt, building the courage to speak again.

   "The Lion of Fereldan. You were captured by the Elder One's soldiers outside of Empress Du Lion. What were you doing way out there?" The girl tried to match Cullen's confidence, but her curiosity was stronger. She began to inch closer, waiting for an answer. Cullen smiled again, licking the drying blood from his lips.

   "I was looking for someone but they've been missing for awhile," he sighed, his left eye twitching as his headache grew worse with worry. Last he had heard, the King and Queen of Fereldan had been seen in the snowy mountains, close to a solution to the looming doom that plagued the Grey Wardens. He had tried to meet up with them, hoping to help any way he could until he stumbled into an ambush near one of the many quarries that littered the mountain range.

   "How long? Was it another Lion, like you?" She had slowly moved up until she was just out of grabbing range, hands busying themselves in her excitement. The embroydery of her dress was distinctly Orlesian but with Tevinter colors, metallic brass and crimson thread. Cullen squinted, tilting his head in an effort to see more.

   "He used to be one. Why are you so curious, miss?" The girl glanced over her shoulder, watching the stairs for a moment before stepping closer. Her wild blonde curls were held back with a light gold ribbon that matched her all-too-familiar eyes. Cullen felt his heart stutter as the girl smiled, stepping close and placing her fingertips just next to his wrists.

  "My mother told me my father was the greatest warrior in Thedas, besides Lady Cassandra the Dragon Slayer. She said he was one of the most noble Lions she's ever met." Her excitement made her cheeks flush bright pink, the corners of her lips curling almost identically to his. Cullen's eyes filled with tears as he looked her over. Her features were distinctly from her mother: round eyes, higher cheekbones and the tip of her nose turned up just so. His strong jaw had somehow melded perfectly with her mother's cherub-like cheeks, and her eyebrows moved expressively, mirroring his expression of shock as she watched the tears drip down his cheeks.

  "Y-your mother?" The girl reached into her skirts, producing a handkerchief and stepping close to wipe the tears and grime from his face. She was gentle, avoiding the bruises the guards had given him that morning. Her brow furrowed when she let her fingers glide over the scar that started on his lip, and he was instantly reminded of the Herald fretting over him during their bouts.

   "She tells me stories of their adventures all the time. She sings those songs to help me sleep. I heard you and-"

   "Mia! There you are! Your mother is so worried that-" A familiar voice, confident and strong, echoed down the stairs until a finely dressed man stood in the doorway, his staff glowing in his hand at the ready. He nearly dropped it when the girl turned to see him.

 "Altus Pavus! I-I didn't mean- I-" Dorian crossed the room in a few strides to Mia's side, eyes jumping back and forth between the pair before dropping to his knees. His staff clattered to the ground and Mia jumped to catch it for him. Dorian's face was pale and his mouth gaped open, a thin choking sound eeking out before reason grasped him. He took a moment more, as if memorizing the sight before he became serious again.

 "Mademoiselle Mia, please return to your chambers. You know you're expressly forbidden from the lower levels. Your mother has been worried sick," Dorian's voice was strained with control as he stroked his mustache nervously, taking his staff back from Mia. Her face turned down, staring at her toes before apologizing.

 "I'm sorry, Altus Pavus." Dorian was all business once he wrenched his gaze from the two, glancing around corners before lowering his voice, kneeling down to Mia's eye level.

  "And don't tell your mother just yet. Go lie down and I'll tell her I found you napping in the garden. We'll talk about this later." Mia pouted, dug the toe of her slipper into the dust, and finally nodded. Dorian patted her shoulder and gave her a gentle push to the door. Begrudgingly, she shuffled to the stairwell, giving Cullen one last twinkle of her fingers before rushing up the stairs. Dorian sighed, closing his eyes before turning to face Cullen, who was frozen between shock and amazement. "Well... I'm sure you have some questions."

* * *

   Far above, in one of the lyrium-filigreed towers, Lady Diana Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and former leader of the Inquisition stood in one of the archways overlooking the wide expanse of the Winter Palace and wondered if the fall would kill her. She brought her left hand in front of her, flexing her fingers around the edges of the Anchor and cursing it as she did every day. The unknown side effect of being tethered physically to the Fade had made itself known on that fateful day years before as Corypheus had nearly cleaved her skull open in anger, forcing her to open a rift over her home and friends. Blood had poured down her face until it clotted over her eye, making the sickly green sky and the looming face of the Elder One flat and dizzying. Only the sight of Commander Cullen, leading the forces and her companions in a charge had roused her from imminent death to wrestle with Corypheus. Weak and bleeding, she could still feel the scream in her throat as she ordered them to leave, to run. Her last request.

   She had fully expected to die, and in a tiny part of her mind, she might have been happy to. The red lyrium she had accidentally ingested months before ran through her veins like molten metal, searing her skin and spearing her mind with horrors unseen. Only the goal of ending Corypheus had kept her going, bringing some form of freedom to Thedas if only for a short time. Then, Cullen... A smile cracked her otherwise stony face. She remembered the Commander, a bevy of confidence, suddenly awkward and shy around her. They normally fought worse than mabaris, complete with name calling and screaming matches. It had taken a joint effort of her companions and advisors, planning and scheming until the stars aligned just so.

   She turned her hand back, palm out and feeling the night wind caress her fingers. It caught her stark white hair, pulling through it as if to braid the long tresses. Her gaze lingered on her hand, the ring Cullen had given her long since lost. She could still remember the weight of it, the lucky coin reforged into a delicate set of bands. His hands had trembled nearly as much as her own when he fished them from his pocket. The Anchor flashed brightly, ripping a scream from her lips as the lyrium burned in her, a long forgotten song echoing in her mind.

  Diana leaned over the banister, staring at the cobbled stone far below. It wouldn’t kill her, she knew. It would break her, yes, but it would simply push the fact that the Anchor did not allow her to die. Corypheus had tried for countless ages to do this, hoping to rip the Anchor from her flesh. Deep scars ran the length of her body now from where he had pulled her apart, only to knit her together again. The Anchor had done the rest, healing the wounds until only red scars held her bleached skin together. Underneath her robes was a spiderweb of red stone.

  “Do you wish to add another scar to your collection?” She growled, turning to face Samson as he entered her sparse chamber. He gripped her chin tightly, leading her away from the balcony. Since her interment, Samson had acted as her jailor, keeping her under his watch whenever Corypheus had no need of her. The years, however, had not been kind to him and the red lyrium was quickly moving to end him. Diana failed to mention this to him, remaining defiantly quiet. Her blue eyes now held a ring of blood red on the rim of her iris, giving her a nearly demonic glare as she met his gaze. Samson was merely amused. “If you wish a new scar, I’m sure I can add one for you, Princess,” he snarled, throwing her to her bed.

  Samson paced around her bed, letting her climb to her knees, never dropping her stare as he began to monologue.

  “I’m surprised the Elder One hasn’t simply locked you in a room to wither away. An apostate left almost unchecked, a liability,” Samson sneered, his fist clenched around the hilt of the two-handed sword that never left his side. Diana knew this dance; He could only repeat himself after nearly a decade of torturing her. Samson kicked the side of the bed, and Diana saw him wince, limping slightly after. A wicked grin curled at the ends of her mouth. He was nearly fifty years old and the lyrium had drained much from him, unlike her. Her immortality had forced her to adapt to the invading blight, the magic shifting in her until it fueled her every move, keeping her body and mind as if she were still just shy of thirty.

  Rising to her hands and knees, she crawled towards him, slinking along the edge of the bed. Samson froze, hands wringing the handle of his sword as she spoke.

  “Oh poor Samson. Has Corypheus forgotten you today? I know it must be difficult, knowing you should end me, yet your Lord has told you no.” She pulled at the magic in her, forcing the lyrium in Samson’s aging body to flare painfully. He winced, nearly doubling over in pain while Diana swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her robes were loose, and the skirt fell open to show her milky legs. They were his weakness, she knew--He always went for the long legged whores. Even now, as his limbs burned, Samson’s bloodshot eyes lingered hungrily on her. “I guess you shouldn’t have pledged yourself to a mage, Templar.” She stood, letting her robes cover her once more. Diana could practically hear Samson’s heart racing as she nearly floated over to where he crouched, one hand crushing the back of a chair while he panted. He had one hand over his chest, measuring his heartbeats even as Diana played the blight in him like a harp. One delicate hand raised and Samson cried out.

  “What are you-” Diana’s small hand nearly crushed his chin as she mimicked him, grasping his jaw firmly in her fingers. Tendrils of charged magic swam from her fingertips into his skin, his eyes wide as her fingernails turned into the red stone before him. The nails lengthened until they drew blood from her gasp. A low chuckle bubbled from Diana’s chest before she let him go, slapping his face. Shock alone threw Samson to the ground.

  “You think yourself some high and mighty warrior, but you’re just an old man playing dress up, Samson.” She kicked at his unarmored stomach, her smile twisting as she reveled in his cries. “Oh, I’ve dreamt of this moment. You, at my feet,” Diana raised her hand once more, closing her eyes as Samson screamed. His limbs jerked at the pain that spasmed through him. “You know you made me this. I used to be pure. Pious. Then, you,” she paused, pulling him back to his knees until his back rested against the end of her bed. Taking his face in her hands, she tilted his face up so she could study it.

  The scars and wrinkles ran deep in his features, and she could see where the greying had streaked his hair until it matched hers. His eyes were permanently bloodshot and hungry, and it made her stomach turn. Hate had long since rested in him. She pulled back her hand and he flinched, waiting for the lyrium to rise in him again. Instead, she grinned ferally, returning her hand to his cheek. She leaned in.

  “Once upon a time, there was an Owl who didn’t want to be an Owl. All she wanted to do was sit in the tree and sing of the glory of the Maker until her throat was sore and her voice lost. But the Lions were scared of the power of the Owls, so they locked them all away in the tallest trees they could find. Come on, Samson, you know the story!” She grasped at his hair, ripping at his scalp as she began to drag him across the room to the tall mirror she kept, shattered and broken. He yelled, his hair giving as it ripped in her unusually strong grip. Her voice grew louder as she went on. “One day, the trees were burned down and the Owls had no where to go. The Wolves ran from them, and the Rams closed their doors. The Lions began to hunt down the Owls wherever they went. But the Owl who didn’t want to be an Owl ran and hid, clipping her wings and wrapping herself in furs. She tried to be a Wolf, a Ram, but never a Lion.” She shook his head, making him look up at her.

  She had grown cruel and fierce under his keep. Madness haunted her movements and he wondered if she had truly lost her mind. “S-s-so the Owl… the Owl…” He tried to continue, repeating the same story he had once told her as he kept her chained and bound, cutting at her until only what he had needed remained. Diana slapped him, nails dragging long furrows down his cheeks.

  “No one likes to be repeated, Samson! If you can’t tell the story properly, let someone else do it!” She threw him against the mirror, letting it shatter even more against his back. Diana stood back, raising her chin as she surveyed her handiwork. He was broken, frail as he was. Even without her connection to the blighted lyrium, she could see he was failing. She should call for a healer.

  Should.

  “You… you could never have joined the Chantry, you fucking mage.” Samson chuckled, fingers searching for his blade uselessly--Diana knew better than to leave a Templar with his blade. “Corypheus will punish you for this.” Diana tilted her head, pouting a little as she giggled.

  “Did it ever occur to you, Samson,” she nearly spit his name as she grew closer to him, “That perhaps the Elder One has no more use for a has-been warrior like you?” Samson’s eyes followed her beckoning hand to the balcony and fear finally settled into him.

  Corypheus haunted the shadow of the doorway, a twisted approximation of a smile on his face as he watched. He seemed ageless, the same as the first day he had approached Samson and promised him glory. Samson fell forward, crawling towards Corypheus with a hand outstretched.

  “My Lord… please…” Corypheus looked to his thrall, nodding as he approached. Diana growled, pulling Samson back to his knees. He began to whimper as Diana weighed her hands on his shoulders, draining the energy from him like an unplugged washtub. Corypheus sighed, sounding bored, as he watched Diana circle Samson predatorily. “Please…”

  “End him.” Diana smiled, nodding at Corypheus’s command. Samson began to scream as Diana flushed the blight back into him rapidly. Her lyrium-tipped nails sunk into his shoulders, splitting into a thousand tiny pieces that each embedded themselves into the warrior. Within moments, his scream was silenced in a dry gurgle. The once-Commander Samson was a statue of solid lyrium.

  Diana stepped back, panting before falling to her knees. For the first time in ages, the lyrium in her was nearly drained, and the song was nearly silent in her mind. A set of elven servants rushed into the room, tilting the remains of Samson onto a cot before carting it from the room. Silence settled into the space as Corypheus appeared in front of Diana. One long finger pushed under her chin and she let her head fall back, sweat beading on her skin.

  “My ever faithful servant. Your loyalty will be rewarded.” Corypheus seemed almost proud, surveying his captured hero. Diana shivered, feeling the blight in her quiver at his words. She found her lips already moving, accepting his praise.

  “Your servant is only as able as her master, my Lord.” He smiled slightly, dropping his hand before crossing to the doorway.

  “You are expected in an hour. Collect yourself. Do not be late.” He left without a sound. Diana’s whole body shook, and her hands clenched into the hem of her robes. It took a few moments, but eventually she retched, the hate and anger sickening her. Already the blight was rising in her, making her skin itch.

  She hadn’t wanted to kill the blasted man, but the blight cheered in her, reveling in the torture and blood. Turning to her reflection, she saw a twisted version of herself, plastered in sweat and tears. Diana rose to her feet, brushing her knees before turning to the pair of elves that pretended not to notice anything from her doorway.

  “Draw a bath and bring me a dining gown. And tell me someone has found my Mia.”  

  She could be this killer so long as it kept her daughter safe.

 

 


	3. The Fox's Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns how Dorian came to the Winter Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to throw some Tevene in there, but I'm not 100% sure how accurate it is. As always, reviews and comments are always more than welcome!
> 
> Also, for some color listen to the MyNoise wind generator on animate! while reading the first part.  
> http://mynoise.net/NoiseMachines/windNoiseGenerator.php

_Years Earlier…_

  Dorian pulled his cloak tighter around him, the night winds ripping at his clothes as he approached the nearly ruined Winter Palace. He utterly despised Orlais, and the cold was doing no favors to his mood. Cursing under his breath, he stopped and slid a boot off, several stones tumbling out. They made a hollow echo in the empty landscape, reminding him of just how alone he was out here.

  The Iron Bull had wanted to come along to protect him, but the finely printed letter had said to come alone. This whole event smelled worse than Val Royeaux’s docks.

  “ _Kadan_ , it’s a trap.” The giant Qunari had huffed, pulling Dorian close as if to keep him from leaving.

  “Yes, I can tell. I fear if I don’t go, they’ll just come collect me.” Dorian missed the radiant warmth The Iron Bull always seemed to give off even more as he trudged on.

  Cresting over a hill, Dorian rested on his staff. The last time he had seen the Winter Palace was during the grand masquerade. He doubted this visit would be as relaxed. The giant towers of gold and blue were slowly being eclipsed by the growing red lyrium at their bases and all plants and trees had long since died off, creating skeletons on the plain between him and the palace. Giant lumbering red creatures roamed the gardens, making Dorian swallow nervously. Voices echoed across the dried out landscape, beckoning him on.

  When he finally reached the front gates, they had already been opened and the guards were nowhere to be seen. He switched his staff to his main hand, letting it click against the cracked marble. The dark clouds above him threw eerie shadows that looked too much like the spinning dancers from years ago. A fountain dribbled water, and a gate creaked ahead of him. Instinctively, his staff spun, the end glowing as he pointed it towards the sound. The giant golden gates hung as if one of the lyrium-creatures had simply walked through it, hanging limp and dead. Somewhere, a raven croaked.

  “Hello?” His voice echoed, bouncing off dust-covered benches. A pile of leaves stirred as the wind picked them up and tossed them aside. Dorian waited a moment longer before resuming his trek forward.

  The foyer was in similar disrepair. Once-luxurious carpets and velvet drapes lay torn and shredded, probably used to haphazardly bandage the few remaining soldiers left when Corypheus had invaded. The only addition Dorian could see was the statue of Emperor Gaspard, frozen in a state of screaming fear. Dried blood still stained the floor beneath the statue’s knees, and a gold encrusted sword lay forgotten statue’s shadow. Every door was left wide open, the trail of fleeing nobles clearly seen. Dorian cleared his throat.

  “Again I’ll ask, Hello?” The echo was only slightly dampened by the drapes, and Dorian huffed. “It’s rather rude to invite someone and not be here. The nerve.” He peeked around the corners, waiting for the ambush to happen.

  “If they don’t get you on the journey, they’ll spring in the front foyer. Two from above and one from each side. Set a trap behind you and take care of your side guys first.” The Iron Bull had thought of everything, trying to ready Dorian for whatever lay waiting. Twisting the staff in his hands, Dorian mumbled a spell and a rune, bright ice-white and glowing, appeared on the stairs behind him. He nodded, watching it undulate in the shadowy room before moving on.

  The grand ballroom was a battlezone, a myriad of divots in the floor and several arrows still sat deep in the pillars. Suits of armor lay in corners, nothing but dried old bones left inside. Every light was out save the moonglow that made the once joyful room feel like a graveyard. At the end of the hall, a set of thrones threw long shadows.

  “Last time, Hello?” This time a sound responded, the creaking of wood. Dorian’s staff sprung to life as he looked around him, glowing with a readied spell. “About time, if I do say so. Who’s there?” He advanced, his shoes muffled on the plush carpeting. A nearly silent shushing sound met his ear and he looked behind him, expecting a figure in the darkness. The wood creaked again and he realized it came from the thrones at the head of the room. His fingers itched to cast a spell, but he held back, squinting against the darkness.

  A tiny green glow lit in front of the thrones, and the voice hissed, shushing once more as something cooed. The light bounced back and forth as if rocking and the wood creaked once more.

  “Hello?” Dorian’s voice was softer now, and his limbs trembled as he descended to the lower dance floor. Slowly, a face appeared in the gloom, a small bundle in their arms. Lips were pursed in a shush as they rocked, tears dripping down cheeks as the coos grew into cries.

  “Shh shh shh, little lion. Momma’s here, shh shh, my little one…” He froze, and his staff felt a thousand times heavier as the face looked up, brightening for a moment. Happiness and then desperation tore across her face before she spoke again. “You came.”

  “Diana? You… you’re alive…” Nothing kept Dorian from rushing over the fallen pillars and upended tables to kneel in front of his friend, taking her right hand in his before she could rip it away from him. In the glow of his staff, he could see scars criss-crossing over her hand, the lyrium filling in where flesh could not. “How?” Tears ran freely down Diana’s face as she shook her head, and Dorian could see the invading blight in her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter, Dorian. I need you to take her as far away as you can. Take her and run until you can’t run any more, please.” Diana’s voice was rough, hours of screaming ripping through her throat, and her words trembled like her arms. She was thin again, the warmth long since seeped out of her bony hands. Dorian tried to take her face in his hands, but she pulled away, closing her eyes tight as she held back sobs. From the cradle of her arms, the bundle shifted then cooed once more. He looked up at Diana and carefully took the swaths of blue silk from her, pulling back to look inside.

  Bright golden eyes smiled up from a mop of flaxen curls, a tiny hand reaching up to point at him. Dorian’s eyes teared up, looking between mother and child.

  “Diana, how-”

  “Dorian, please! I’ve ruined every good thing in my life. Take her away before I ruin her too.” Diana’s lips shook as she pleaded, pressing the child into Dorian’s arms. The baby reached out, running her tiny fingers over the buckles of his outfit. He paused, watching her. “She’s.. she’s so perfect, Dorian. She couldn’t have gotten it from me. Please, take her wherever you’ve been hiding and let her live.”

  “Come with us, Diana. We need you. Cullen needs you.” Diana flinched as if someone slapped her, and her fingers clawed into the wood, adding more nail marks into the arms. Something shifted, her face turning wild.

  “No one needs me. I am nothing but a mistake. Everyone’s great crowned mistake!” A crack resounded next to them and a pillar of lyrium erupted from the ground next to them, making Dorian jump back, holding the girl to his chest protectively. As soon as it happened, Diana slumped, shaking with tears. “Take her away from me.” He nodded, slowly walking backwards until the doors swung wide open at the other end of the hall.

  All of the flames sprung to life as Corypheus and his second-in-command, Samson, entered the hall. Dorian looked fearfully between them, shifting the bundle to his left arm so his staff was ready. Samson strode forward, amusement making his strides heavy with a swagger.

  “What do we have here? A mage?” His sneer was heard more than seen. Samson began to slide his sword out until Corypheus stood between them. The beast of a creature looked down at them before greeting them.

  “ _Vitae avanna, Altus_. What brings you to here?” Corypheus towered over them, his eyes boring into them before Diana finally stood. She dragged herself between them, head hung low while offering the letter Dorian had dropped.

 "You invited him, my lord. He’s the magister I told you about, the necromancer.” Samson glared at her, and she shivered under his gaze. Corypheus watched for a moment before turning his attention to Dorian.

  “I have a predicament that none other have been able to solve. My servant believes you might have the ability to aid us towards our goal.” The words were carefully measured, like a tailor with cloth. Dorian shifted, nodding that he was listening before Corypheus went on. Swinging one clawed hand forward, the Elder One pulled back the mop of stark white hair on Diana’s head, revealing a deep arching scar across her scalp. It took only a moment for Dorian to realize it was the same wound as the last time they had met. “My Anchor rests in my servant for the time being. Until she is dead, the Anchor stays with her. She does obey my every word, but there is one thing she cannot do.” Diana’s lip trembled as she watched Dorian, her eyes pleading for him to run. Samson huffed, striding forward to grab Diana’s arm and twist it behind her, throwing her chest out into his waiting dagger. Dorian cried out as she fell to the ground, blood pooling out of her onto the white marble. The child began to cry.

  Diana twitched, screaming as he pulled the dagger from her chest, throwing it so it clattered to the ground. With a horrified gaze, Dorian watched as she pulled herself back to her knees, the fountain of blood suddenly ceasing as the wound filled up, healing slightly before the lyrium filled it in. A large red gash angry pulsed in the middle of her chest. Corypheus floated behind her, watching as she trembled.

  “She cannot die. This is my problem.” Samson scoffed, muttering something about dirtying his dagger. Diana snarled, and the former Templar laughed. Dorian bit his lip, bouncing the bundled child in his arms as he thought. “She believes a necromancer might hold the answer. I am hard pressed to find any so far. Accept my offer, and I will make you my Archon.”

  “And we need a nanny for the brat,” Samson grumbled. “It seems the bitch likes you, so you shouldn’t worry about a knife in the back.” Corypheus turned on Samson, a gloom following in his wake.

  “She will have her use in time. You have soldiers to train.” Samson nodded, giving the mages one last glare before dragging his boots out of the room. Silence sat among them until Corypheus turned back to Dorian.

  “What will it be, Altus Dorian Pavus?”

 

* * *

  
  


  “I certainly couldn’t leave her all alone, so I stayed. I’ve been studying her for years. I think the Elder One has been waiting for Mia to show signs of magic. Diana… Well, she’s been keeping us safe.” Dorian sighed, passing Cullen a hunk of meat. Cullen nodded as he tore into it, the juice dripping down his chin.

  This was how the last week’s worth of nights had passed. Dorian would sneak down with a plate of food and some clothing under the guise of working on some experiments. Cullen wiped his face off with the sleeve of his shirt, ignoring the offered handkerchief that Dorian stowed away promptly.

  “How? I thought Corypheus controls her?” He took a hefty swig of something that was sweet and tangy, coughing a little before continuing with his stolen meal. Dorian’s hands moved through the air for a full minute before his brows met, trying to explain.

  “No offense meant, Cullen, but it isn’t simple. Diana can… control the lyrium inside anyone. Only red lyrium. We tried.” Dorian fingers twirled again as if pulling something through the air. “So far, she’s been making sure Mia and I haven’t been… ‘poisoned’ is the wrong word…” A crow croaked and Dorian’s fingers snapped. “Contaminated. That’s the one.” Cullen stopped chewing, raising a brow questioningly.

  “And Corypheus lets her?” It was Dorian’s turn to look confused.

  “Honestly, I don’t think he cares much about us. He made Diana kill Samson the other night. Gruesome, according to the elves. I think she liked it.” He nearly dropped his plate as Dorian went on. “It took them hours to scrub the blood off the tiles. Mia nearly had a heart attack when she saw it. She didn’t like Samson either, but at least he left her alone.” Dorian sighed, taking the bottle back and chugging until his lip curled. “ _Kaffas_.”

  Cullen leaned back, staring up into the tiny window as if he could see into the tower itself. His heart thumped painfully in his chest as he thought of his love and daughter alone.

  “How is she?” His voice cracked, and Dorian looked up, following his gaze.

  “She misses you,” Dorian sighed again, “She won’t talk about you. I think she thinks she betrayed us somehow. Mostly, she just sits her room, singing and drinking until Corypheus needs her to go terrorize some poor noble. The only thing that makes her smile is Mia.” Dorian’s face flashed a small smile as he reached into his robes, fishing for something. “Here.” The small silver pendant flashed in the moonlight and Cullen smiled as well.

  “Where did you find it?” The Chantry sun amulet sparkled dimly, the red glass in the center long since shattered, but Cullen loved it all the more. She had fretted over it for ages, having it reforged every time it broke until Vivienne had it enchanted. Diana had once told him it was the only thing she had from before her life in the Circle. He slipped the chain over his neck and tucked it under the thin shirt he now wore.

  “It came with the note. Honestly, it was the only thing that let Bull let me come. He knows I’m ok. I get to leave to collect materials for this and that.” A smile crept onto Dorian’s face as he thought of his love. It had been too long.

  “Next time you meet, send him back to the beginning. The others should still be there,” Cullen mumbled, crushing some fruit into his mouth. “Is there a chance you could bring Mia back down to see me?” Dorian laughed, starting to pack his things up.

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t come back herself. She keeps asking for stories of the great Lion of Ferelden. Diana isn’t thrilled because somehow, the Little Lion found a wooden sword and now she keeps challenging the guards to duels. It makes her smile.” Cullen nodded once more, passing Dorian the plate after etching a crude map into the bottom.

  “She makes me smile too. Stay safe.” He paused, looking up once more to the window. Dorian knew that look all too well, knowing that far above them, Diana had the same look as she perched on her sill. “Give her my love, Dorian.” The mage nodded, quickly leaving as marching footsteps approached.

  Dorian rushed past the patrol, nodding to them before moving on to the kitchens. The elven servants quickly dispersed except one, who kept scrubbing the floors. She was grumbling, in her own world as she worked.

  “Friggin’ floors. Don’t need to be scrubbed. Hate this job.” Dorian whistled quietly and the elf stood, grinning from ear to ear. “Whatchya got?” He passed the plate to her and she moved quickly, taking a rubbing of the back before tossing it into the fire. “And where?”

  “Haven. Stop by the ruins to get Bull before going.” The elf nodded, pulling her hood down briefly. Sera smirked, grabbing her stored weapons from under the baker’s table. “Andraste’s sake, be careful. We’re trying to get out, not get killed.” Sera let out a snorting laugh, scooping up a bag full of what Dorian assumed was her finder’s fee. It wouldn’t go noticed for ages.

  “Yah, I got it, Dorian. Get Bull, get there, get safe. I know my job,” She leaned forward, pressing one finger to Dorian’s nose before slipping into the shadows. The mage laughed, leaving the kitchen before heading to his room.

  Far above, Diana began to sing.

 

 


	4. The Owl's Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always trust Dorian to figure out a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance if it's a little jumpy--I should have been in bed hours ago, but I had to write this out.  
> Thank you for reading, and reviews/responses are always welcome!

_Years Earlier…_

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with you, Commander.” Shock fell over the War Table, only the sound of Josephine’s crimson quill clattering to the ground finally breaking the silence. Cullen’s mouth hung slightly open, and Leliana hid her smirk behind the table as she knelt down to collect the fallen feather. Diana stood opposite the Inquisition’s advisors, her back to the towering doors of Skyhold’s War Room. Her hands were clasped behind her, shoulders squared as she waited for someone to challenge her.

  Since their close escape from Haven, something had shifted in the Herald. She had been timid, quiet and unwilling to accept the title of Herald of Andraste. The Chantry’s words had scarred her deeper than any blade. Something had happened after she set the catapult on Haven, nearly burying Corypheus and his blighted dragon in one fell swoop. After finding her wandering the mountainside, frozen and nearly dead, everyone could see a new weight on her shoulders.

  “Did I hear you correctly, Inquisitor?” Josephine’s words were stuttered, and she could barely keep her board steady. The small flame that perched atop the pages danced as she shifted back and forth. Diana’s bright blue gaze never left Cullen’s shocked expression when she responded.

  “Of course, Ambassador. The Commander makes an excellent point. We’ve been too reactive. We need to stop waiting and take the fight to him.” Cullen coughed, realizing they were all staring at him. He nodded, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword nervously. He kept himself from grabbing the back of his neck, the hairs suddenly itching against the collar of his armor. Maker help him, but the Inquisitor’s stare did strange things to him. Even as he paced along the table, explaining the details of their mission to the Emerald Graves, he could feel Diana’s eyes on him.

  She stood still with the statuesque air of a noble, chin held slightly higher and shoulders down to bare her neck. Only the slightest of nods broke her frozen state. Even if the Inquisitor was giving Cullen the fullest extent of her attention, he still felt that she was harshly judging him, as was her norm. At every turn, she disagreed with the former Templar to the point of screaming at one another. The last time had ended with the two of them nearly coming to blows in the middle of Haven. Only Varric had been able to pull the Herald away and shove her into the small house at the front of the camp.

  “Commander?” Cullen stopped, his hand hovering over one of the fist-shaped markers, a sigh resting on him. Diana’s voice was emotionless, and he waited for her criticism to break. She stepped into the light cast by the fireplace, her hair catching the glow until it shined brightly. Diana rested her hands on the table, going through the scenario once more in her mind before looking up at the advisors.

  “Well done. Leliana, get us any information you can. Send Scout Harding. I trust her judgement. Meanwhile, Josephine, send word to Grand Duke Gaspard. Tell him we accept his invitation on the condition that he allow us the privilege of using the skills of Chevalier Vincent D’Allard and his battalion.” Diana was all business, one arm resting behind her as she gesticulated to them, her eyes cast down as she concentrated. She paused, resting one delicate hand on her chin as she surveyed the map once more. “Its getting late. Let’s call it a night. Tomorrow at noon?” She stifled a yawn, looking out the window at the star-sprinkled sky. They filed out of the room, until Diana looked back, seeing Cullen still glaring at the map. She closed the door, studying the warrior before crossing back to him.

  Cullen glanced up at her long enough to nod, his hands shuffling a stack of papers as he double and triple checked his information. Diana frowned slightly as he dropped a set, the pages sliding across the cobbled floor. He cursed under his breath, dropping down to collect them. His hand shot out to grab one caught by a stray wind, blowing towards the crackling fire, but Diana was closer. In one moment, her hand was dwarfed by his, the calluses on his palm scratching the back of her hand. They froze.

  Diana had forgotten the warmth of another person, couldn’t remember when her skin touched another, and it sent a shock through her. She fell back, clutching her hand to her chest.

  “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, I didn’t-” Cullen pulled his hands back, wondering if he had somehow hurt her. Dropping the sheet on the table, he slowly approached, searching for a sign. Diana turned her back on him, shoulders slumped until she appeared to curl in on herself.

  “The fault is mine, Commander. I shouldn’t have-” She looked up, surprised to see he had rushed around her, concern evident as he gingerly reached forward. With the lightest of touches, his fingertips brushed the back of her hand before sliding between her fingers. She bit her lip as her hand opened, blossoming until her palm lay up, the Anchor quiet for once. Warmth seeped into her hand as his fingers traveled over the edge of the Anchor, feeling the map of her palm. Looking up, she watched his face until he returned his gaze to her.

  “Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Her lips broke slightly as he watched his hand continue across her skin. His voice was low and gentle for once, and her heart thumped once.

  “You can call me Diana,” She stuttered, hoping the trembling in her knees wasn’t evident. The overwhelming cologne of leather, metal and soap assailed her senses as he stepped closer. His gaze traveled over her, truly looking at her for once. In this moment, she wasn’t the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor.

  “And you can call me Cullen. There’s no need to always be formal.” He gently reached forward to brush her hair back over her ear, his brow furrowing as he singled out one hair. With the tip of his nail, he broke off the end of it and held it in front of her. A long single white hair.

* * *

 

  Diana stood in front of the new mirror, a single long hair pinched between her fingertips. She could hear Mia stirring in the next room as she tilted her hand, amazed at what she held. It was long, slightly curled and bright auburn to the root. Even in the light, it shone and sparkled like a rare jewel. Picking up a book from her desk, she pressed it between the pages and closed it, holding it to her chest.

  “Mama?” Diana turned, smiling brightly. She returned the book and knelt down, brushing Mia’s curls back and beginning to braid them. As she plaited the long blonde hair, Diana closed her eyes, feeling for the smallest tendrils of corrupted energy in her daughter. A few hissed at the contact but they were soon pulled into Diana, muted by her own magic. Mia hummed quietly as her mother worked. Diana frowned slightly, listening to her daughter. The song sent her back to Skyhold, singing along with the bard as she drank in victory with her friends, the chant of ‘ _Taarsidath-an Halsaam_ ’ ringing in her ears.

  “Mia, darling, where did you hear that song?” Mia’s tune trailed off as she bit the inside of her cheek, eyes jumping back and forth as she searched for an answer. Her mouth popped open to a perfect O as she thought.

  “Uhhh…” Dorian entered the room as if on cue, smiling at the pair.

  “I did. Sorry, she wanted to hear a new one yesterday,” He grinned, leaning down to kiss Mia on the forehead, winking as he turned to face Diana’s frown. Her hands rested on her hips, a brush hanging from her fingers.

  “So you taught her _Sera Was Never_?” Dorian smiled unapologetically, hands up as he shrugged. Mia giggled, taking off into her adjoining room. “No sword, Mia!” They grinned as Mia groaned from the other room.

  “How long will you be gone?” Dorian asked, lowering his voice as they walked to the balcony. Diana sighed, pulling her robes close, letting the feathers tickle her nose.

  “I don’t know. This feels more like a search than a shakedown. At least two weeks of travel.” She leaned against the banister, letting the wind catch her hair as she stared off. “It’s been years since I’ve been there. I don’t even know what it looks like.” Dorian watched her, something akin to homesickness making her eyes distant. Her fingers moved absently against the embroidery of her robes. Like this, she seemed a reflection of her old self.

  “I’m sure long after we’re all gone, the Hinterlands will live on.” Dorian leaned in next to her, pressing shoulders together. “He’s following our old steps, Diana.” She frowned, weaving her fingers through one another. She nodded, wincing as a crash resounded, followed by a quiet “Sorry!” from behind them. “Redcliffe, then where?”

  “Wherever that leads me, he said. I…” She trailed off, turning around to watch Mia cleaning up the spilled contents of her dresser. Several satin dresses had fallen across the floor like flower petals. Diana smiled while she watched her daughter. “You’ll watch her?” Dorian wrapped his arm briefly around her shoulders in a quick hug.

  “Always.” The sound of hooves echoed beneath them. “It’s time.”

* * *

  
  


  Far below, Cullen was sweating in the suit of armor, helmet heavy on his head as he perched on one of the mounts assigned for this travel. By some miracle, Dorian had not only procured a full set of armor, but also a doppelganger to take his place in the dungeon. The exchange had taken only moments, but Cullen was now as indistinguishable from the other soldiers as a blade of grass from a field.

  “They don’t talk to her, so just grunt. No one will know the difference,” Dorian had told him, handing him all he would need. “She’s supposed to be going East. If I’m correct, and I always am, she’ll want to head to Haven. That’s where they’ll grab you and, hopefully, her.” Cullen willed his hands to still as he heard the front gates swing open. Even through the tiny slit in his helmet, he knew it was her and his heart thumped.

  Her bright white hair was tied up into a well-restrained braid, only a small strand escaping near her temple. The red scarring and once-blue tattooes were evident from a distance, and her skin seemed a strange bleached pale. Her robes covered her, a halo of iridescent raven feathers surrounding her neck in stark contrast to the blood-red outfit. A large obsidian cape billowed out behind her as she strode confidently towards him. Her face was stony and coldly determined, eyes searching hawk-like as she approached. An elf raced behind her, arms full of her gear. Diana stood back, letting the elf pack her horse as she looked Cullen over.

  “Do you understand my mission, soldier? You are to accompany and protect. Only interfere if I tell you to.” Her voice was equally cold and emotionless as she mounted next to him, her hands picking up the reins expertly. The horse pranced beneath her, only making her look more in command than ever. Cullen nodded, grateful for his disguise now. She looked him over once more before turning her horse away, leading them out of the Palace gardens and onto the barren waste ahead of them.

  From the tower, Dorian and Mia watched Diana ride off, waving until she disappeared over the crest of a hill. They shared a grin.

  “Now?” Mia whispered, bouncing on her toes excitedly. Dorian shook his head, pressing a finger to her lips. He looked around nervously, searching.

  “Tonight, little one.”

* * *

 

  After an hour of silent travel, Cullen heard Diana sigh ahead of him, slumping forward in the saddle. He turned his head, glancing quickly at her as she fidgeted in her seat. Silence continued, only broken by the sound of hooves on dry dirt. Diana gave him a sideways look, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “You ride like a Templar.” Cullen jumped slightly, surprised at her conversational tone. Her hands rested on the pommel, fingers tapping together as she let her horse lead the way. She smiled slightly at him, and he had to restrain himself from answering. “Were you a Templar before…” Her hands waved in the air around her, gesturing about, “Before all this?” He nodded stiffly, pulling his horse to the side as they approached a trench. Metal glinted from the bottom, long forgotten armor catching what little sunlight still remained of the day.

  Diana grumbled, studying her companion. His seat was nearly perfect, a little too far forward for comfort, but ready to charge if needed. One hand rested on the pommel of his sword, and his eyes seemed to scan the horizon constantly. A shield lay against the horse’s rump awkwardly, as if the soldier hadn’t used one in a long time. They were silent for another hour or more, traveling farther than Diana had been in years.

  “Are you ever going to talk?” Cullen shrugged, his armor creaking. “I know you can talk. I’ve heard the others talk before.” He remained quiet, savoring the little conversation they had. Dorian’s warning still lingered in his mind, that they had to be far away before he could even attempt to reveal himself to her.

  “I have no clue how far his influence reaches, so I would wait as long as I could,” Dorian had whispered, pointing out key points on a map.

  Diana began to hum, pulling her staff out and spinning it slowly, letting the crystal at the top glow gently. He watched, nearly entranced as she tested out the staff, spinning it overhead and to her other hand in an intricate pattern. A moment later, the familiar warmth of a Barrier lept around them, making his skin tingle as if she had kissed every part of him. She grinned, waiting for him to say something. His only response was to tighten his fists around the reins, a gasp stuck in his throat. Nearby, a stick cracked.

  It was instinctual for both of them, leaping off the horses and into a crouched stance. Back to back, Diana’s staff spun out a rune, then another Barrier. Cullen unsheathed his sword, shield at the ready as they waited. Their backs pressed against each other while they watched, finally seeing a Nug skitter off with a squeal. Diana laughed, turning to Cullen with a warm smile.

  “I apologize, I’m a little jumpy. It’s been awhile,” She said, pulling herself back onto her horse. The further they traveled from the Winter Palace, the more relaxed she seemed. Cullen slid his sword back into its sheath, mounting his own horse. “But it’s nice to know you’re ready.” She turned her horse back to the path and he watched, his eyes lingering on her.

  This would be a long journey.

 

 


	5. The Cub's Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Mia make their own adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for 1) that last chapter being so... meh and 2) This chapter taking forever! I started writing and realized I was writing the next chapter without having done this one first!

  For many, the Winter Palace was a sign of terror, of continued bloodshed and stolen lives. The towers were tall and their shadows long. Little Mia, however, had known no other home. She knew which stairs creaked, where the servants' entries led to, how to climb to the top of the chandelier, and when the patrols ran their well-worn paths. The Winter Palace was a wonderland to Mia, with something new to discover each day. Just the other day, a friendly blonde elf had shown her a cubby underneath the grand staircase she could open by turning a tiny golden fleur-de-lis.

  So when Dorian had told her they were going on an adventure, Mia was as bouncy as her curls. She had always dreamed of adventuring like her mother's stories, sailing to far off lands and fighting evil creatures.

 "Its going to be dangerous, and hopefully boring," Dorian whispered, sliding a worn pack out from under his bed. Mia sat atop the satin covers, kicking her feet excitedly. She could tell her mentor was worried.

 "Oh it'll be so exciting! I've never even left the grounds, Dorian. Do you think we'll see a Gryffon?" She pulled the sheets up to her face as she held back a squeal, her golden eyes twinkling. Dorian laughed, pulling the pack onto the bed.

  "To be young and energetic again. Probably not, Mia. There's only a handful of Grey Wardens left in Thedas. We're more likely to run into spiders and wolves," he shivered, remembering the giant spiders. Mia sighed, flopping back with her arms thrown wide. Dorian moved quickly, gathering items from every cranny of his abode. To the untrained eye, nothing would be missing, which is exactly how he wanted it.

  He reached under his pillow, sighing as his fingers found the pair of cold silver handles. Sliding them out, he sat next to Mia, urging her to sit upright.

 "This will be dangerous, Mia. Creatures and people will want to hurt us. Do you understand?" Mia nodded, looking curiously at the pair of daggers Dorian held. Holding it by the very end, he held it up to the candlelight, letting the metal glow as he turned it. It was small and silver, barely bigger than a butter knife, but infinitely more sharp. The only decoration on it was a flaming sword, etched into the handle. "These belonged to your mother, so I'm giving them to you. I might not be able to protect you, so if someone wants to hurt you," he motioned a quick jab and twist, "You hurt them first, okay?"

  Mia wrapped her hand gingerly around the haft, her fingers meeting the tip of her thumb. It was surprisingly heavy, but balanced. She gave it a couple practice swings before sliding off the bed. On the other side of the room, a manikin held a set older robes at just about average height. Mia held the dagger, pacing her steps like the cats she watched fight in the courtyard. She stilled, then struck, leaving a gash on the thigh. Dorian grinned.

 "Aim for the back of the knee or stab straight into the leg next time," he came up behind her, handing the other dagger to her in a small leather sheath. His eyes crinkled in a smile as she grinned back at him.

 "We'll find Mama, Dorian." She had all of the confidence in the world, and why not? She was the daughter of the Herald of Andraste and a great Lion. In her mind, Mia Trevelyan would become a hero worth writing stories about. She hugged him, smiling before taking off towards her room. Dorian watched her, a bevy of curls and pastel tulle bouncing away.

 "Andraste preserve us, I hope so."

* * *

 

 Night fell fast, and the pair soon found themselves sneaking through the halls, slippers softly stepping on the crushed velvet carpets. Mia kept running her hands over the dwarven leather armor, unused to the rough material. Dorian had insisted on her wearing the breeches and shirt, telling her that it was impossible to move in skirts. She didn't mind, in fact, and she resolved to get more when she could.

 Pulling the hood up over her mane of hair, she crouched, waiting until she heard the boots to fade off. She motioned to Dorian, holding three fingers up. They had only a few minutes. She led the way, keeping to the edge of the hall where the shadows lay the thickest. A pair of elves passed on the other side quickly, arms filled with linens far above their eyes. They snuck quickly to the staircase, straddling the railing and sliding down noiselessly to the foyer. Mia moved swiftly, pressing the tiny gold emblem until a tiny click announced the small door opening. Dorian slid into the seemingly minute crevasse and she followed close behind, pulling it closed just in time for the grand ballroom's doors to open.

 Mia held her hand against her mouth, trying to breathe as quietly as possible, watching a delegation of Tevinter Magisters leave the ballroom. Dorian tapped her shoulder, using his fingers to tilt her chin up until her throat was straight. Her panting became silent.

 "Did you notice his pet wasn't here?" One man stage-whispered, sharing nods with his companions. His accent was thick with drunkenness, and he staggered towards the main entrance.

 "I heard he sent her to find something, but no one knows what. It's very peculiar," Another slurred, hiccuping loudly. "All this mess to make Tevinter great, and a-and for what? So he waste away in a castle?" They shared a laugh, knocking over a vase before mocking the statue of Gaspard, upending a bottle of wine over it. Mia frowned--She didn't like the Magisters. They made her mother cry.

  Dorian tapped her shoulder again and pointed into the darkness. A small tunnel led towards the outer wall of the palace, the slight scent of rubbish floating down the rough hewn hallway. She nodded, crouching down and pulling the cloak up over her nose. It took only a few minutes before they saw a pinprick of light.

 After an eternity of hiking, they stopped, resting under the branches of a slowly growing tree. Dorian was busy rummaging through his bag as Mia pulled herself up into the tree's arms, looking back at the palace. At a distance, the grand buildings looked little more than a toy house. Tiny figures moved about the terrace, and the bonfires that burned seemed like stars, small and twinkling in the night. A moment of homesickness panged in the young girl before Dorian knocked on the trunk. She looked down at him and he smiled up, arms out and waiting.

 "I don't think we were followed, but I don't want to stay around to find out," he whispered, his words ripped away as the wind blew harshly. Mia's gaze was distant and thoughtful, staring out at the encroaching storm clouds, and for a moment, Dorian wondered if she could be strong enough for what would come. Little Mia looked more like her mother every day, and it made him wonder where his friend could be even now.

* * *

 

  The night grew cold with the pouring rain, and they made camp next to a small winding river. Mia helped as best she could, but the tent made little sense to her. Huge drops of water splashed down her hood and she silently marveled at the way they ran down the edges of leather to her fingertips. For a moment, she was a nymph, moving the streams with her fingers like strings on a harp.

  “Your mother will kill me if I let you catch a cold,” Dorian fretted, looking about nervously as he piled dead branches about their small tent. This wasn’t the best place to camp, but the storm wouldn’t let up. Cracks of lightning lit in the distance, briefly lighting their faces. Mia was all wonder and awe even as she yawned, crawling into the tent as he closed the flap behind her. The rain pummeled against the roof in a steady drumbeat until they both drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

 

  Mia woke with a gasp, the storm directly overhead. Thunder rolled in her ears and she felt as if the lightning in the sky ran through her skin, making it tremble. Looking back at Dorian, she made sure he was asleep before creeping out into the early morning. The rainclouds blotted out the sun, making it difficult for her as she pulled her cloak off, inspecting her skin the way her mother taught her.

“If you see red at all, you come find me, Little Lion.” She remembered her mother’s tremulous words, pulling at her clothes until she was sure the lyrium hadn’t touched her. Her skin was flawless. Mia sighed in relief, but the electric feeling in her joints still lingered. Bouncing on her feet, she walked in a circle, hoping to push the feeling away. Lightning cracked overhead and she dropped to a crouch.

  Several dark figures stood at the top of the embankment, looking about silently. She reached to her back, letting her fingers wrap around the daggers until they weighed heavily in her grasp. Slowly, ever so slowly, she moved in the darkness to the tent and peeled back the flap. Dorian stirred quietly before rolling to his knees, the growing thunder waking him.

 “Mia, what-” he began, stopping as she pressed a finger to his lips, as he had often done to her. Immediately, his staff was in hand, sneaking out alongside her.

  Even in the strange light, he recognized the Magisters, pointing to one another as they searched. His hand instinctively went to press on Mia’s shoulder, but she was missing. Panic set in and he searched, holding back the urge to yell for her.

  Mia was trembling, a drumbeat in her head that pushed on and on. She could barely hold the daggers as one of the brightly robed men passed her hiding place. The dead stump crunched every time she shifted her weight, but they didn’t seem to notice. The overwhelming stench of alcohol and some dust they sniffed floated past her, making her stomach turn. Her mother’s sobs echoed in every heartbeat as she snuck behind one magister in particular.

  He was taller than all the others and the most sober, if his stance was anything to judge by. Cold eyes scanned the horizon and she could feel the magic rippling off of him. Mia could remember being a small child, hearing his laugh as something slapped and her mother screamed. She hated this man, more than Samson, more than Corypheus. The daggers felt like a steely push, guiding her closer.  She could see Dorian out of the corner of her eye, but something deep in her moved her hands.

  The magister screamed out as one of the daggers bit into the back of his knee, slicing straight through to the other side, a fountain of blood painting the ground in front of him as Mia danced back, pulling the dagger out with a twist. The drumbeat in her head howled in approval and she slashed at the magister’s hand, making him drop his staff. Thunder roared over them, and the lightning lit his face up with fear.

  “W-who’s there?” He yelled over the storm. Mia was silent, stowing the daggers away and somersaulting over to his staff before rolling away with it. The moment her bare hand touched the worn wood, the electric field that ran under her skin rushed forward into it, lighting the top with a galvanizing glow. Her laugh was heady and powerful, making all the magisters turn.  The drumbeat was wild, beating in time with her heart as she spun the staff like a baton overhead.

  Dorian dropped to his stomach, covering his head with his hands as he heard the energy burst like a dropped glass from the staff. Just a gentle pop followed by a wave so large, it bent the grass around him. The air stunk with burnt flesh and the singe of ozone when he finally stood. Mia was leaning on the staff, shivering as smoke wafted off her. The four magisters were little more than crisped robes and bones, fire quickly extinguished in the downpour. He crept close to her, hands out in a sign of ease as he took the staff from her, catching her small body before she fell. Her eyes were wide and her mouth began to open into a scream before Dorian pressed a finger to her lips.

  “D-d-did I do that?” Her voice was tiny and exhausted, sweat drenched against her hood with blonde tendrils snaking out. Dorian smiled, nodding as he kissed her forehead.

  “Well done, little one.” His heart thumped as she smiled, mumbling something.

  Oh, Diana was going to kill him.

 

 


	6. The Ram's Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds the lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun! A little short for my taste, but I really want to move along a bit...

 

  Cullen pulled his horse up short, a fist up in a command to stop. Something was very wrong. If he remembered correctly, this road cut through a high hill, a deep rut in the raised landscape. It would be perfect for an ambush. Diana was having none of it, however, and simply rode around him. Her whole body seemed cold to him now. They had rested only few times in over a week, and in that time, she had returned to her harsh self, nose upturned and silent as a grave. The deep lyrium-filled scars pulsed an angry red, and she fidgeted as if she wanted to rip her skin off.

  He frowned, riding his horse until he blocked her, shaking his head vigorously. Diana's glare was sharp, and her mouth pursed as if she tasted something sour.

  "I don't remember asking for your opinion, soldier," she nearly snarled, pressing her heels into her mount's side. The horse puffed, moving forward once more. He watched her ride into the shadow of the hill, figures moving in the dark. One paused, turning it’s head towards Cullen, and he saw a bright green hand painted on it’s chest. “Well?” Diana’s voice traveled rather loudly through the trees and, with a frown, he clicked to his horse, pressuring him forward.

  Diana was grumbling, complaining about something as her fingers pressed into her skin. A radiant hum seemed to glow from her, making her horse twitchy and the few butterflies that dared to get close withered and died in the air, falling like leaves to the needle carpet floor. Her head whipped around, eyes wild and searching.

  “What did you say?” He shrugged, still watching the figures in the distance. They seemed content to watch and wait. Diana shivered, lip curling in disgust as she ripped her cloak off, stowing it in a bag hastily. She was well armored, even for her, and her jumpy shoulders gave away her discomfort even more. A large scar ran down her shoulder and under her robes, glowing bright red. Cullen watched, amazed, as it splintered and fractured under her skin, spreading into a web of thread-thin rock. She hissed, biting the inside of her cheek as her horse stumbled. “That’s it. I’m done.” She pulled the horse up and promptly slid off, falling into a disgraceful pile on the ground. The horse shied away, galloped a few feet, reared and fell over with a gurgling death cry. Her sigh was audible when she finally rose to collect her things from the dead creature.

  It had been a magnificent animal, something akin to a war horse when they had left the palace. In the few short weeks, it had grown emaciated, little more than skin and bones. Now, laying on its side, Cullen could see the shards of red stone growing from it’s hooves and under the saddle itself. Diana folded her arms, studying it before nudging it with the tip of her boot.

  “Dead. This beast just up and died and you still won’t say anything?” Her words were smooth, almost blending into the sounds of the stream nearby. Something in the way she spoke made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he gripped the reins tighter to keep from reaching back to massage it down. Diana turned to face him, the deceased horse behind her a morbid sight as the lyrium began to eat at the flesh.

  She was a streak of blood in the otherwise lively green forest. The nearby wildlife had become silent, and the grass at her feet turned brown, then grey, then black. His own horse shied, and it took all his strength to keep the beast calm enough to dismount. Cullen cut the cinch with his blade, letting the saddle fall with a solid thump to the ground, pulling the bridle off before letting the horse run. He wasn’t cruel; They were going no further. Diana tilted her head, watching this before sighing, her hands resting on her hips. She began to pace not unlike a wild animal, head snapping back and forth at the slightest noise. She was paranoid.

  “You don’t talk, never talk. We’ve been marching for weeks! How can anyone be so maddenly silent!” Her hands waved in the air as she spoke, a growl entering her voice as she marched towards him. Her cloak was a wave of death, every living thing under it shriveling and dying as she left a dark streak in the dirt. He stepped back, holding his sword ready but not aimed at her. A twig snapped nearby, and she jumped. “I didn’t want to be here, and definitely not with Silent McTightpants!” She nearly cried, stalking away before turning to face Cullen once more, her brow deeply furrowed. “Who are you?”

  He swallowed, searching the trees for his might-be helpers, shaking his head until his back was firmly against the bark of a large oak. Diana’s face turned sharp, all teeth and angles when she finally strode forward. This was not the woman he remembered, he wished for, he…

  A low chuckle bubbled from her and suddenly, she had spanned the distance. Her nose was mere inches from his, her breath teasing the slit of his helmet. One long fingernail scratched against the metal with an ear-splitting shriek and he ripped it off, kicking it aside as the lyrium in her nails claimed it. His heart was racing, waiting for the yelling to start. Only another laugh came, something darker.

  “Oh, I’m not the woman you loved? What a pity, _Cullen_.” She was amused, spitting his name back to him in a way that mesmerized him. It sounded like waves of honey and the angry humming of bees. Her fingers hovered just over his skin and she growled, her body rolling like smoke just before him. “It’s a shame, really. Master told me I can’t kill you. But I’ve done such a good job.” He could hear her teeth snap together just near his ear, the snarl tickling his hair.

  “Ah!” He gasped, feeling the familiar wave of lyrium against his skin but something dark and sharp with it. Her hand hovered over his forearm, making him drop his sword with a clatter. Giggling, she leaned in, breathing deep before speaking again.

  “I think I don’t care what Master wants anymore. I’m going to die anyway.” Her voice had twisted, a layer of voices colliding into a solid sound. He couldn’t move nor breathe, the strength drained from him. He closed his eyes as her hand reached back, eyes bright red with a smile contorting her face in bloodlust.

  “I’m sorry, Diana.” His voice broke out, quiet and serene, waiting for his love to take him. Her giggle grew higher and higher, drowning out any sound except for a lone, confident voice.

  “Hey, Glowy.”

  Diana froze, angry at being interrupted. With supernatural speed, she spun to face her harasser. That was all it took for the twang of a bow to snap, a short yet thick arrow skewering her in the center of her chest. She stumbled back a few feet, enough for Cullen to finally breathe. His strength grew as she retreated, a series of bolts landing in her chest, shoulder, neck. With each shot, her skin broke into a mottled red and glowing purple. Pitch poured from the wounds until she was a strange dark figure, screaming murder with each hail of arrows.

  “Get down, Curly!” That was simple for Cullen, just letting his knees fold and his body collapsed against a pile of well-placed leaves. A shot passed by his head, bright green and smelling strongly of sulfur. It landed in its mark, the center of a circle of shots in Diana chest. Cullen crawled quickly, pulling himself behind a tree just before the bolt exploded, sending Diana flying back into a broken branch.  He lay against the tree, panting for breath as he heard a flurry of footsteps descend, a familiar shadow falling over him.

  “Well, this isn’t what I expected,” Varric quipped, grinning widely as he holstered Bianca, offering his hand to the exhausted man. Other than the streaks of grey that ran at his temples, the dwarf looked barely older than Cullen himself. He smiled, taking Varric’s hand and rising. A group of darkly dressed scouts were running about, collecting what they could find of Diana’s belongings and setting the equine corpse on fire. “What in the Void are you doing out here?”

  “It’s a long story, Varric,” Cullen sighed, bracing himself for whatever hung from the tree, twitching and gurgling violently. With his back turned, he could still hear the dank dripping of thick tar-like blood.

  “My favorite kind, Curly. We’ll talk over drinks, but first,” Varric slowly passed Cullen, watching the female figure in the tree. “If it hadn’t been for the kid, we wouldn’t have known you were even here.” Cullen began to ask, but his question was quickly answered as he looked up.

  Cole perched in the tree, keeping an arm's length away from the corpse that now shrieked and bled profusely, daggers out and ready.

  “Master said to lead him away. Don’t kill, he has his purpose. Lion lying longing in the dungeon. I hate him, I want to go back. I’m not supposed to be here,” Cole’s voice wafted down to them on the wind, making them both shiver. The spirit watched a minute longer before speaking to the screaming body. “Why did he send you here?”

  “Kid, she’s barely-”

  “Its not a she, Varric. Its a demon.” It screamed once more, turning bloody eyes to them. The gaze alone spoke depths.

  “I- I was to lead him away. It burns...” Blood bubbled in the corner of its mouth, popping obscenely. Even know, the facade of Diana’s body fell in flakes, disintegrating before it could reach the ground. The smell of burnt ozone assailed Cullen’s nose and made Varric cough.

  “But if this is a demon, then where is Diana?” Varric’s question hung heavily in the air. Cole landed lightly next to them, hovering his hand over Cullen’s left hand. The single band on his finger seemed to hum, and Cole’s eyes unfocused.

  “Sand, so much sand. Blowing, miles and miles. _Merdique_ sand. Where are they?”

 

* * *

 

  Deep in the dunes of sand, a man cursed, knocking his boot against the pole of his tent.

  “For the love of Andraste, I’ve got sand in my ears. My ears!” He poked his head out of the canvas tent and frowned, squinting in the bright sun. “It’s still too bright, dear. A few more hours till nightfall and we can keep going.” He sighed, pulling the flap closed and tying it shut before smiling at the woman lying next to him. Even in this blighted desert, Alistair felt like the luckiest man in all Thedas. The woman smiled back, giggling softly before sitting up. She was dressed in just her breastband and small clothes, the sun’s heat too much for anything else. Curly dark brown hair fell over her shoulders in waves, and she pushed it back before bringing her hands up into his view.

 “How much longer?” She signed, her fingers moving gracefully. He shrugged and she frowned at him, her chocolate eyes shining.

  “Oh don’t make me go back out there. Maker, it’s hot!” He groaned, giving her the biggest puppy eyes he could manage. She giggled again, her hands briefly forming a crown on her head.

  “I’m terribly sorry, my King. Shall I fetch someone to check for us?” Alistair laughed, pulling himself back next to his wife, kissing her neck until she was a bundle of giggles. The wind whipped against the side of the tent and they froze for a moment, the worry of the their only refuge blown away causing them to sweat.

  “Being king has not made me soft, dearest,” he mumbled into her ear, laying down with her. “We can just sleep for now. You said it’s close by, right?” She stuck her tongue out of her lips a little, thinking before raising two fingers. “Two days?” She nodded, the gears turning in her mind as she tried to remember some map from years before. Their skin shivered in unison, and he frowned, tilting his head as if listening.

  “Darkspawn?” She signed, grabbing her blades and peeking out the tent. There was nothing but sand as far as she could see.

 

  Across the dunes, deep in the Hissing Wastes, the true Diana trudged on, sunburnt and as close to death as she was allowed. Her goal was near.

 

 


	7. The Gryffons' Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, Diana pulled herself up to her feet once more, staff sinking into the sand until the blade disappeared. The drums beat on, growing with each step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I really wanted to take my time on this chapter. As always, read/reviews/comments are always appreciated!

    The Hissing Wastes were true to their name. Little else existed in the twisted barren expanse than sand and the occasional hooded snake. Diana bit back a pained cry, drawing a thick ruby droplet from her dried lips, as one particularly brave cobra latched onto her barely covered foot. With little effort, its fangs pierced through aged leather and cracking skin. She stared at the creature with a vicious ferocity that quelled the barbarity of most soldiers, only to receive a blank dark stare in return.

    The snake itself was fascinating, a scintillating liquid of iridescent scales that shone like the Chantry windows of Diana's youth. It coiled around her foot, sending sparkling colors in every direction under the sweltering and relentless sun. A rainbow of light landed on her, coloring her skin something other than the hues of sunburnt and dying flesh. Diana was entranced, a tiny part of her mind screaming that there was far more danger here. The snake bit down harder, attempting to rend the small hunk of meat it held in its jaws from the greater part of her foot, and her mind reeled. A strange cool liquid-like feeling was spreading from her leg upwards. Taking her staff in hand, which was suddenly much too large and heavy, she stabbed shakily twice, missing the snake both times before skewering the beast on the long grotesque blade. It gave one last spit of freezing venom deep into her flesh and died, the rainbow of colors dying out with it. Diana breathed heavily, her vision swimming before her as she knelt down to peel the coiled corpse off from around her swollen ankle. The motion was too much and she fell back, landing on her rump in a pile of ever shifting sand.

    Wiping her lip off with the tip of her finger, Diana watched the heavy drop of blood roll down her finger, leaving a trail in the caverns of skin like a morbid stream. It flowed easily, reaching the tip of her finger in moments before hanging off the end, blooming larger and larger before breaking away. It fell through the air slowly, catching the sun as it crystallized before falling into her other waiting palm. The gem-like drop bounced around her cupped hand, clinking as other similar droplets joined it. Diana frowned, tossing the stones to the wind. It was taking less and less time now.

    "Well, shit, Boss," The Iron Bull's voice echoed eerily in the suddenly still air. Diana laughed, tossing back her head and letting her voice carry her madness across the dunes. The hulking Qunari walked around until he stood in front of her, worry barely masked by the paint he wore on his face. "This isn't funny, Duchess," he grumbled, crouching until he was face to face with her.

    "This is a good one. Do you demons really need to follow me everywhere?" Diana hissed, baring her teeth in a feral grin as she lunged into Not-Bull's face. He didn't move other than the brow she could see furrowing, nearly touching the patch that covered his missing eye.

    "No demons this time, Boss. Just your mind," he replied, offering his hand to her. She held her crouch, ready to pounce while blood flowed freely from her nose, painting a long crimson vein down her lips and chin. Not-Bull waited patiently before huffing, getting up from his crouch. As he moved, his body shifted, melting into someone else before her eyes.

    "It is quite obvious you are hallucinating, likely from the heat. The venom doesn't help either," Not-Solas drawled, walking over to poke the snake with his toe. Diana's toxin-fueled madness only grew, a growl building in her throat with a bloody bubble. Not-Solas looked over his shoulder with a disapproving stare, his curiosity more fixated on the dead snake. "You know I am not the real Solas."

    "Was there ever a real Solas?" Diana's question hung in the air, icy and hard. Not-Solas seemed pleased somehow, dropping his gaze to the snake once more.

    "It won't kill you. Would you rather speak to someone else?" Even as he spoke, his eyes began to turn golden and curls sprouted to consume his blunting ear tips. Her responding cry ripped through her, hurling pure energy at him in a crackling ball while she closed her eyes, some obscure stanza of the chant falling like the now drying blood on her lips. The amalgamation stepped aside, letting the wild magic fly off into the sky, spiraling until it burst in a cascade of sparks. It watched, melting between different people of her past quickly as if trying to read her emotions. Eventually it turned away, its hair darkening. By the time it turned around, it wore Cassandra's stern face, kneeling once more before Diana.

    "How about me, Inquisitor?" Diana stilled, sitting dejectedly before the apparition, shoulders slumped so her arms hung between her spread knees. Some semblance of logic returned to Diana.

    "There... There has to be an Inquisition for there to be an Inquisitor," Diana mumbled, turning her hand over so the Anchor could taste the dry desert air. It had quieted during her journey, barely tingling as she stalked West. Not-Cassandra smiled a little, taking Diana's hand between hers. It was odd, the same cold liquid feel that had been in her leg before, but somehow comforting.

    "And what makes you think there isn't an Inquisition, Herald?" Not-Cassandra watched Diana's face contort at the old title, waiting for the strike of anger, but instead, Diana looked to the sky, letting the sun blind her for a moment. Her mouth hung open, breathing heavily before a weak whisper eeked from her.

    "I got you killed, Cassandra. I..." Not-Cassandra waited, letting her finish her thought. It took a moment for the words to come. "You believed in me. Long before I could. And I got you killed." Not-Cassandra shook her head, moving Diana's chin with a gentle push so she could look at her.

    "That is not how I remember it." Not-Cassandra watched her a moment longer, dredging the memory up from a decade of pain. “You made a decision, as was your duty. We followed. It wasn’t your fault. How were we to know?” Diana gulped back a sob, looking up so the sun could blind her for a moment, as if wishing to burn the sight away. Even as she stared, she could feel the magic in her surge to her eyes, healing as quickly as the sun could sear.

    “Cassandra, Vivienne, Blackwall… How many others have I killed?” The alien sound of the vision shifting filled her ears and a pair of cold hands rested on either side of her face, pulling her gaze back to the shifting sands. Diana sight was still wounded, but even she would have recognized the large floppy hat in the haze. Cole was crouched almost the same way Not-Cassandra had been, but his own gaze was far away. A strange black liquid had splattered his side. “Cole?”

    “I’m not here, but I’m here,” he smiled, tapping her temple. Cole tilted his head as if listening and his mouth moved silently, speaking to someone not there. Diana felt the coldness move up her spine, chilling her center until she could barely sit upright, leaning back on her shaking arms. Cole nodded and looked back to Diana with an intense stare. “Searching, seeking, try to save you. Why are you out here?”  In his stare, a strange reflection shined back at her, figures moving in the shadows of his irises.

    “I was sent to-” Diana stopped, squinting into the distance. A large ruin seemed to rise from the dunes, a single silver banner fluttering like a beacon from a shattered pillar. Beneath it, a figure moved, pacing back and forth in the small shadow the ruins threw. Hunger ran through Diana, the infectious lyrium in her rushing to supress the venom until it sat like a dangerous bulb, ready to burst. A drumbeat began to thrum in her head, and Cole reeled back, hands to his ears until he disappeared in a waft of smoke.

    Slowly, Diana pulled herself up to her feet once more, staff sinking into the sand until the blade disappeared. The drums beat on, growing with each step.

 

 

    The Hero of Ferelden paced under the ruins she and her husband had claimed, worrying her bottom lip until it threatened to split. If there hadn’t been a spring deep within the cavernous ruins, she would have insisted on moving long before, pushing on to her final goal. The warning tingle of darkspawn had kept them both awake all night, only achieving the occasional nightmare filled nap. Sleep was a precious commodity to the Wardens, and they had little of it.

    The Hero tilted her head, listening to the slight echo of water and footsteps rising from a crevasse in the floor. Cool air rushed out in blessed relief, rustling the mane of hair that surrounded her face. Alistair had ventured in not too long before with their empty waterskins to fill them one last time. She smiled as the sound of a splash and a small curse floated to her ears. At any other time, she would have joined him, but the encroaching feeling of dread kept her on edge. Dark chocolate brown eyes scanned the horizon, ever searching for the source of her discomfort.

    “Dear, are you sure you don’t want to take a little break? We could-” Alistair froze, seeing the Hero’s low crouch. She looked back, pressing a finger to her lips before sliding her short swords from their sheaths. Her spine seemed to ripple, skin shivering while she stalked into the shadow of the ruins. A moment later, she had blended seamlessly into the landscape. Only the tiniest ripple of the air gave any sign that something was amiss. Alistair drew his sword and shield, grateful for the familiar weight on his arms, and retreated into the dark crack in the ground.

 

 

    Diana dragged her body onward, biting back screams as the lyrium grew and cracked under her skin. Near her joints, splinters shot out of her skin only to break off and fall into the sand. The drums were vicious and driving, a heartbeat not her own in her mind. The blighted infection called for blood in a insatiable hunger Diana hadn’t felt in years. No life was visible at the moment, yet the energy pulled her forward, beckoning to the ruins. If she could just feed the blight in her blood for one night, she might have a chance to clear her mind and get back to her hunt. Anything to return to Mia.

    The thought of her daughter froze Diana in her tracks. No matter how bad it had gotten, Diana had never let Mia see her in this crazed state. In the form of their stories, she had alluded to the madness some Mages faced and how the lyrium was twisted in her. Tears began to streak the grime that coated her face, nearly sizzling against her heated skin. Every thought of Mia quieted the drums that much more, and Diana began to bring every image in her mind forward of the brightest light in her world. The blight hissed in her mind, wrapping tight around her neck like the serpent, rearing to strike at her fragile pulse before it froze. The glowing red light coiled around her shoulders, a head searching about before running down her torso and leaping into the sand.

    The staff in Diana’s hand jumped to life, energy coalescing down the shaft and over her hand like a cool stream. She took a step, letting it drag a line in front of her in the sand. Diana raised her arm, swinging it in a long arch until a barrier jumped to life around her. The magic curled along her skin, covering her completely. The line shifted and Diana jumped, rolling back as a pair of swords lept out of the air. Armored arms followed, making Diana snarl as the blade of her staff jumped off the steel bracers. The figure stepped from the air and swung, seemingly numerous blades parrying and striking quicker than Diana could see. They rolled into Diana, knocking a well-covered shoulder into Diana’s nearly bare gut, sending her flying for the second time onto her rump in the sand. Only the overly-trained instinct to raise her staff in front of her saved Diana from a blade across her throat. The defense jarred her attacker long enough for Diana to force-push back, sending the figure flying back. Diana lept to her feet, crawling a few steps before running to meet the rogue head on.

    The Hero let out a snarl, grabbing her dropped sword before letting her cloak drop completely. She knew who this demon-like woman was, for there could be no other. This twisted being was Diana Trevelyan, thrall of Corypheus. The Hero straifed, keeping a great distance between them. If years of training with Alistair had taught her anything, it was that her husband would come to her aid any moment now and they would settle this. She couldn’t kill the Herald--Alistair insisted upon it. The Hero began to let her blades dance an intricate pattern between them, occasionally thrusting out to strike at her shoulder, hip, arms, anything to keep this woman on the edge.

    Diana kept her staff swinging, the occasional barrier or bolt shooting from the tip. She wasn’t sure who this rogue was, but the anger in her eyes told Diana this was someone she must have hurt personally. Diana let her lip twist, baring her teeth before leaping forward, batting the blades aside with the brunt of her staff before landing a solid knock in the middle of the rogue’s center. Energy splayed out across her armored chest, making her grunt as she tumbled back. In the middle of her her roll, she suddenly shifted in the air and disappeared. Diana froze, eyes hawk-like on the air around her. Wind blew the sand about her in an angry torrent, covering any sign of retreat, until Diana heard the slight metallic grind of a sword being sheathed. Shadows coalesced by the ruins, and she took off towards the skeletal building, her staff swinging angry arcs that melted the sand behind her into a shining red glass.

    The Hero clutched her chest, the shadows falling from her as she hurried to the ruins’ center. Her ribs screamed in protest as she tumbled over a low wall, but she rushed onward. A brutal growl echoed in her wake, bouncing off the walls in a growing wave. The Hero’s feet crunched over ancient bones and, in a desperate jump forward, the gaping maw swallowed her in its darkness. From her hiding place, she could hear the rumble of Diana’s mumbles.

    “Here, little shadow, I won’t hurt you,” Diana laughed, her voice pitching up into an insane giggle. The blade of her staff, a long piece of the lyrium sharpened and broken into a point, dragged against the stone until it squeaked loudly, forcing the Hero to press her palms to ears. In that moment, the dark song that pulsed in her mind grew, singing the same forgotten lullaby that had terrorized her for decades. Only Alistair kept her from heading for the Deep Roads. Alistair…

    Diana paced in front of the dark chasm, glaring angrily down into its depths. Something unsettled her deeply about its darkness. The hunger in her mind beat angrily against her instincts, pressing her feet ever forward. She took a step and snarled, reeling away before sending a bright bolt into its center with a scream of frustration. Only the broken edges of pillars lit in the glow of magic before it hit into a ceiling, bringing an arm of stone crashing to the ground. Diana spun, charging another spell before something hot and wet bit into her wrist, holding her arm back with the threat of danger. She froze, feeling the vibration of a growl move up her arm. Nodding, she let her staff tumble to the ground as a blade rose to her throat.

    “Now, that’s no way to introduce yourself,” Alistair sighed, his blade trained on the delicate pulse of her neck. Diana let her eyes cast down to the mabari who claimed her wrist, the feeling of danger rising in her as the beast’s intelligent gaze bore into her. “Besides, Baxter doesn’t like it when you threaten his mistress.” Alistair let his blade bite slightly into her neck, reminding her as the Hero slowly crawled her way out of the crevasse. He had to keep the sigh of relief back, watching his wife dust herself off and make her way over to the crazed woman.

    Alistair could watch his wife all day, her deft hands speaking for her while she observed Diana.

    “What’s wrong with her?” The Hero signed, looking Diana over. Tendrils of lyrium danced under her skin in a painful display. The few spots where she had landed lucky blows dripped the same red stone onto the stone. Where they fell, the stone seemed to glow and grow slightly.

    “Something about the red lyrium. She was poisoned,” Alistair grumbled. Diana’s lip twisted, her eyes moving since her head could not. Baxter growled, tightening his bite on her wrist.

    “Infected. It’s alive,” Diana barked, her hands wringing in the air. They watched as her hands twisted and plucked, causing the lyrium to dance under her guidance. The glow of power around it flowed like a stream while it followed her instructions. The Hero shrugged, keeping her distance as she circled them. She completed her pacing, stopping before the restrained woman.

    “Why did you let us live?” The Hero’s own fingers danced, tracing the words in the air as she mouthed them. Diana closed her eyes, lingering on an answer until Alistair began to translate.

        “She asked why-”

    “Why I let you live. I know, your majesty.” The anger was gone from her words, only a tired sigh as she held back the beating drums in her head. The Hero tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she watched Diana’s eyelids flinch.

    “She can hear it.”

        “Hear what?” Alistair asked, letting the biting blade of his sword lower slightly. He looked back and forth between Diana and his wife, watching her study the mage a moment longer. It wasn’t until the Hero began to tap out a beat against the stone that he realized, sheathing his blade. It was the same beat that kept him lying awake at night. Baxter loosened his grip, putting his ears back as he began to whine. Diana opened her eyes in surprise, and for a moment, Alistair saw the scared woman she had been, letting him flee before Corypheus could kill him.

    “The darkspawn. She can hear the song, Alistair,” The Hero explained, stepping close to Diana. “That’s why she’s so crazed. It’s not Corypheus, it’s the taint.”

        “But if she’s tainted then…” Alistair let his thought trail off, the implications silencing him. Diana let her gaze dance between the Wardens, waiting for them to explain. The Hero finally stepped forward, resting one hand on Diana’s shoulder before answering her confused look.

    “My name is Rose Cousland, and I know how to cure you.”

 

 


	8. The Cub's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The biggest windmill I ever saw! There were whole fields of them in the Ostwick, but this one was the most grand. Arms as big as a giant. I thought that this was where wind was made..." Her mother's stories played in her mind, and Mia shivered.
> 
> ***Warning in this chapter for self-harm/bloodletting***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing again! In case you feel like this chapter is brief or oddly cut off, I've got the next one almost finished. I wasn't sure where exactly to cut this one off.  
> As always, read/reviews/comments always appreciated! If you have any questions, feel free to drop me a message here or on Tumblr!

 

     "Recite the forms of magic." Mia nearly threw herself to the ground in a fit of exhaustion. She had no idea how Dorian did it. They had been marching for what felt like weeks, meeting barely any souls save the occasional farmer. A growth spurt had forced her to abandon the leather armor she adored, keeping only the bracers and a few extra pieces. A rolled up pair of Dorian's spare pants worked for the moment, and she had managed to cut up a nightgown into an approximation of a billowy blouse. At the moment, it stuck to her sweaty skin, her hair a frizzled poof haloing her face. Dorian had not a single hair out of place, marching well ahead of her between the amazingly tall Hinterland trees. The only sign of any stress was the thin white line of hair that had begun to blossom at his temples.

     "We've been over this a billion times, Dorian!" She whined, climbing over a rotting stump. Dorian looked back at her, serious as he responded.

     "And we'll go over it a trillion times more! Now, what are the forms of magic?" Mia's grumble was sullen, but she began to recite the information just as he had taught it.

     "The forms of magic are offensive, defensive, and healing. Each has their strengths and each has their flaws." He nodded, pulling himself up onto a steep bank before kneeling down and offering Mia a hand. "Where are we going again?" She grasped his hand tightly, kicking off the ground as he pulled her up with a groan.

     " _Kaffas_ , child! You'll have to start pulling yourself. We can't really afford pulling my back out because you never learned to climb," he coughed, holding his lower back while he look about from their vantage point.

     It took Dorian a moment to remember the landscape. Much had changed in the last decade, but the mountains were the same. The forest had thickened and thinned until it created a new pattern of greens and browns. A large pale arm jutted out of the needled boughs, beckoning them onward. Dorian pointed to the statue.

     "There. That's the crossroads. If we're to find anyone, it'll be there." He began to kneel down to talk to Mia, only to find that her eyes were now even with his shoulders. _Fasta vas_ , he was getting old.

     "Do you know anyone there?" Mia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She had torn a strip from her blouse to tie back her hair, and now was fighting with it to keep the unruly tresses in check. Dorian nodded.

     "If all goes as planned, there should be a great many people there I know." His face was worried, but his heart leapt at the thought of The Iron Bull, Chargers in tow.

     "And Mother?" Her voice was quiet, hands wringing as static grew about her. Dorian's chuckle was friendly and reassuring, just like the hand he placed in her shoulder. The magic that had grown about her dispelled, muted by his own tame energy.

     "If all went as planned, yes."

            "Was there a plan if everything went to shit?" A deep growling voice boomed, shaking the birds from their trees. Mia squeaked, rolling herself over to the nearest tree and climbing as fast as she could into its thick foliage. Needles fell as her feet scrambled for purchase on the slick bark. Dorian laughed, turning to the source of the voice with the sappiest smile he could muster.

      "Darling, you're scaring the poor girl. Come into the light so we can see- Oh." The Iron Bull stepped into the sunlight, limping slightly as he dragged his leg behind him. His left leg ended just before his knee. Instead, something looking to be dwarven made finished the rest of the limb. It appeared to be made of wood and metal, but the hinges glowed with the hint of runes or some magic. Several newer thick scars ran along his skin in a crude crisscross, and his right horn now bore a sharp metal cap.

       From her perch, Mia watched as Dorian crossed the tiny clearing to wrap his arms around the giant Qunari. Her mother had told her several stories about the horned men, and she wondered how much of the stories were true. Beneath her, the Iron Bull dropped his hammer, lifting Dorian into a sweet, tender embrace, placing kisses all over Dorian's face. Mumbles floated up to her and she blushed, climbing higher to see just where they were.

       The statue Dorian had pointed out looked much closer from the top of the tree. Mia could see long soot marks along it, as if jets of flame had danced along its edges. Further on, other landmarks began to form from the treeline. A set of waterfalls, the broken edge of a once-grand fortress, a giant windmill...

       "The biggest windmill I ever saw! There were whole fields of them in the Ostwick, but this one was the most grand. Arms as big as a giant. I thought that this was where wind was made..." Her mother's stories played in her mind, and Mia shivered. It was so easy to see now. There was where her mother had clashed wits with a Tevinter Magister. By the statue was where she met Mother Giselle. Which meant...

       Mia dropped through the tree quickly, letting her feet slide from branch to branch until she dropped to the floor.

       "Dorian! Dorian, are we heading to Haven?" Mia called, tearing around a corner until she ran almost directly into a short man. Mia gasped, tumbling head over heels as she tried to avoid barreling the man over.

       "Whoa there, kid! I'd give them some time," Varric chuckled, his hands catching her before she fell. Mia frowned and Varric's chuckle froze. "Maker, you're- Well shit!" She stepped back, putting her hands on her hips in a reflection of her mother's commanding stance.

       "If you'll excuse me, Ser, I need to speak with my teacher," she huffed delicately. It was a stark contrast to the layer of dirt and grime that coated her face. Varric began to guffaw, hugging her tightly. It was Mia's turn to freeze. A strange dwarf that had appeared from the trees was hugging her. She let him hold her for a moment before struggling to peel Varric's arms from around her. "Um, who are you?"

      "Ah, pardon my rudeness. I am Master Varric Tethras, story-" Mia squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she began to rattle off the titles of his various novels. He chuckled, crossing his arms in front of him. "A fan, I see. Duchess did one thing right."

      "Duchess? You mean my mother?" Varric nodded, sitting down on a stump, hands steepling as he began to explain.

      "When I first met your mother, she had the high and mighty air of a noble. She wouldn't answer to Princess, so we called her Duchess." A distant smile touched Varric's face, the familiar warmth of telling a story settling into him. Mia sat on the ground, lanky limbs folding up so she could look up at him.

      "What other stories do you know of my mother?"

            "Did she ever tell you about the time she accidentally ran into her first dragon?"

* * *

  
     Cullen was frustrated. Pacing the old familiar corridor of Haven's Chantry, he frowned at the crumbling architecture. The armor he wore was ill fitting, but would protect him in a pinch. But most of all, he now had no idea where Diana was.

     "This was nearly a disaster to repair ten years ago. What makes you think we can hold here now?" Cullen grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as Leliana, ever graceful and seemingly ageless, approached him. A slight limp was the only sign of injury as she approached.

     "We have been working hard to repair it for years, Cullen. I cannot think of anywhere else we could begin to hold." Her voice was breathy, as if she couldn't fill her lungs, and she constantly held a hand to her ribs. Cullen offered his hand out, beginning to worry until Leliana's steely stare silenced him. She would take care of it. "Josie has been in contact with some sympathizers. A few have sent aid, but the rest remain hiding until we can prove we have a way to stop Corypheus."

      A crash echoed through the halls as Cullen knocked an ancient metal vase to the ground, his headache growing.

     "Until Diana is out of the way, I cannot see any way of stopping him! Can you?" His face was twisted in pain, desperation replacing the anger in his eyes. Leliana had stepped back, leaning against the cool stone walls. She was not unused to Cullen's anger, but this was something that ran deeper.

     "Cullen, what are you trying to say?" He turned away, hands clenching at the edge of his armor as if he wanted to rip it from his body. Shoulders falling, he finally turned back to Leliana, eyes brimming in tears.

     "She can't be killed, Leliana. He did something to her." Her hand jumped to cover her mouth as she gasped, watching Cullen sit down onto one of the decrepit pews. It creaked in protest, but held. He let his head fall into his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until stars danced behind them. He jumped as Leliana rested a hand on his shoulder.

     "There's something else, isn't there?"

           "Ahem." They both jumped, chuckling as Josephine startled them. She had found her old noteboard and commandeered one of the chantry candles to light it. Her face was unreadable except for a strange paleness and a shaking in her hands. Leliana nearly jumped across the room, eager to stop whatever was unsettling her. "We have a visitor."

 

 

     The trio stood before Haven's Chantry, a strange gap between them that echoed where Diana had once stood. They exchanged looks, all feeling the loss, before looking forward. The small group of soldiers and religious faithful that had congregated in Haven parted. Varric was leading the little party, a shit-eating grin that would have made Cassandra snort plastered from cheek to cheek. Behind him, Dorian was nearly in tears, his eyes savoring the sight of the small village. The Iron Bull was close behind, one hand on Dorian’s hip. Those two would be inseparable, Cullen knew. What no one expected was the awestruck girl riding Bull’s shoulders, golden eyes wide as she took in the cold air and crowd of gathering people. Josephine gasped loudly, grabbing Leliana’s hand as she stumbled. Leliana was silent, only tears as the corners of her eyes crinkled happily.

     Cullen walked forward, beaming at the returning group. His gait was slow and uneven, his confidence returning as Mia began to wave and yell to him.

     “It’s the Lion! Dorian, look! He made it out!” Mia pushed on her knees, holding herself higher so she could wave to Cullen over the crowd. It took all his strength to stay standing, his friends flanking him in case he fell.

     “Cullen,” Leliana started quietly, her lips barely moving while they watched the approaching party, “Is that-”

     “Is she your daughter?” Josephine was not nearly as composed, her bottom lip quivering. Tears ran freely down her face. Cullen nodded, watching as the young girl slid off Bull’s shoulders and through the crowd. He knelt, his face beaming when he caught her mid-jump, swinging her in a wide circle. Lips pressed to the top of her head, he held her close, thanking the Maker again and again.

     Cullen finally let Mia down, a protective hand on her shoulder while she faced the nearly complete party. Hands grasping the edges of her shirt, she curtseyed with a straight back and friendly eyes. Cullen chuckled, beginning to introduce her until the young girl startled everyone. Taking a confident step forward, she seemed to channel her mother's commanding aura.

     "Hello. _Bonjour._   _Andaran atish'an_. _Avanna_. My name is Mia Yvette Trevelyan, daughter of Madame Dianella Odette Trevelyan-D'Allard. I need your help." She paused, looking the entranced crowd over. "Please, help me find my mother."

 

* * *

  
  


     Diana was sitting on the ground, letting a fresh wound pour into a small hole she had dug with her staff in the ground. Rose watched, entranced as the blood leaked out of the deep scratch Diana had made, flowing smoothly before crystallizing at the bottom of the hole. Diana lay still, staring fondly at the locket in her free hand. From her spot, Rose could see a small portrait, someone all gold and curly.

     “So, bleeding you dry helps you how exactly?" Alistair questioned, watching the process with a look of distaste. Rose bit back a giggle; For a former Templar, he really hated blood. Baxter sniffled the air around the self-inflicted gash and whined, gently licking Diana's cheek. It didn't escape Rose's notice that Diana was fond of the mabari, and Baxter seemed to somehow keep the blight from getting an upper hand on the exhausted mage. Diana shifted, wincing as she pressed a silvered dagger against the quickly healing wound, forcing it to stay open. Every so often, she plunged it in the seam between two stones, scraping the crystallizing blood from the blade.

     "Trust me, Ser. I'm never taking a step towards blood magic. I have seen the demons ready to take my mind and body. So have you." Alistair shivered as if a slimy bug had crawled down his armor.

     "That big spider thing with the eyes? The Nightmare? I thought we wounded it," he grumbled, scratching at his arm. Rose moved in closer as Diana cast her eyes down, staring intently at the wound. She was growing paler as the bloodletting continued.

     "Yes. We wounded it. But we didn't end it. I should have stayed and finished it off." Rose leaned back, watching her husband's face as he turned to look at Diana once more. His mouth gaped open and his hands moved in the air, trying to form his question.

     "I... I thought Hawke... Oh you didn't." Diana chuckled quietly, the blood flowing with the effort.

     "You really thought Fenris would let him stay in the blasted Fade? He practically tore Skyhold's door down to get me to bring him there." Diana winced, pressing the blade into the crook of her arm. It bit effortlessly through her flesh, bringing forth a fresh wave of blood. Alistair stood, throwing his hands above his head while he began to pace.

     “How did you even get Hawke back? The Fade is huge,” Rose signed to Diana, her head tilted in confusion. It took a few tries for Diana to understand Rose, but her comprehension was growing quickly. Gingerly, she raised her left hand, letting the blood drip from her elbow. The Anchor was an angry green maw, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

     “This lets me open a way into the Fade. Besides, I’m a mage. I go into the Fade every night whether I like it or not.” Diana let her arm fall, gasping for breath as she bled more quickly. “And to answer your question, the lyrium thrives in blood. The less I have of it, the less control it has on me.” With a well practiced move, she ran her thumb and fingertips over the blade. Smoke curled where her fingers rested, cleaning the blade in one slide. Another flick of her fingertips, and the pool of blood lit on fire. Black smoke billowed from the hole until all that was left was an inky residue. Diana scooped up the sand she had moved before and refilled the hole.

     Alistair paced back to them, looking truly angry for once. Even Baxter whined, retreating under the King’s glare. Rose retreated behind her husband, giving him his space. She trusted his judgement beyond all others, and in the case of Diana, he’d been right on every count. Alistair clenched his hands together as if controlling himself before speaking.

     “That… thing was controlling all of the demons. Hawke agreed, no, _volunteered_ to stay behind and kill it.” He paused, measuring his words. “And you went back?”

     “I know, Ser. He was considered an acceptable loss.” She sighed, echoing Leliana’s word. Alistair nodded, but crouched in front of her. His joyful face was stoic, brows itching to meet in an angry frown as he waited for her to explain herself.  “Fenris showed up within a few days. I think he was already on his way to retrieve Hawke from us. With Sol- someone’s help, I found Hawke and pulled him through. Just in time, too.” Diana shivered, remembering the mess they had found Hawke in.

     “Are you saying Hawke wouldn’t have killed the demon?” Rose stepped forward, attempting to clear the air between her companions. Diana shook her head, grateful for her forethought to sit before starting the morbid process. The whole world swam in front of her, and for a moment, a third figure stood behind the nobles. She blinked, focusing.

     “No. Honestly, he was near death. If we hadn’t stepped in, he would be.”

     “Just like the rest of Thedas thinks he is,” Alistair sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. He stood, groaning loudly, smiling only when Baxter leaned into his leg. “That explains why the demons only quieted down.”

     Diana began to explain, but her voice failed her. Strength left her in waves until she felt little more than a statue, the weight of the world holding her to the ground. A strange silence settled around her and, in a shifting of the world, the landscape changed. The Wardens disappeared, alien looking rocks erupting from the ground in their places. The air was still yet constantly in motion, and her skin prickled at the sudden surge of magic about her. Before her, the fog swirled and curtained, pulling back to show a large mirror with ornate arches and an otherworldly glow that fit into the new surroundings. It seemed to click into life like a lantern, shining brightly as a figure stepped through.

    “This took much longer than expected. Perhaps I should have expected differently from you?” Solas asked, his hands folded behind him as he strode out of the Eluvian. Diana snarled weakly, watching him while he approached her prone form. “I did not dare approach you at your full power. I saw what you did to Samson, and I did not wish to end up like him.”

     A string of curses fell from Diana, her fingers clawing at the ground as she attempted to stand. He simply stepped out of reach, toying with her like a cat with a mouse.

     “What do you want?” She finally growled, settling for a low crouch. Solas waved his hand, commanding the Fade about him to swirl and coalesce. A seat formed beneath him, catching his form as he sat.

     “The same thing you do.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->zebeyithra-fr.tumblr.com


	9. The Pride's Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you my father?” The swig of wine Cullen had started exploded from his mouth, leaving him coughing for air. Outside, something large broke and the sound of rushing feet grew louder before stopping in its entirety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itty bitty not-so-angsty short chapter!

     An awkward silence filled the small tavern Haven housed. Cullen sat at one of the tables, seat pushed away from the table, watching the person across from him with a studious gaze. Mia sat on the other side, a perfect mirror of the man. Both held matching mugs, swirling the watered down wine in the bottom. Without the pretense of the cell doors between them, there remained a distance between them. Occasionally both would begin to speak, stopping as they inadvertently interrupted one another. The barmaid came around, refilling their mugs before retreating. They were the only patrons at the moment, but Cullen caught sight more than once of Sera and a few others watching through the windows.

     “So,” Mia finally said, setting her mug onto the table with a solid thunk. Her chair scooted along the floor, bumping against the uneven boards until she was flush with the table. Her gaze was intense, studying his face with the patience of an artist. Cullen shifted uncomfortably under her stare. There was something much older in her eyes than her youthful face could betray.

     “So.” He coughed, copying her. His hand had already come up to rest on the back of his neck, massaging it in a futile effort to calm himself.

     It was strange to look at her. Akin to looking into a skewed mirror, Mia was a blend of himself and Diana. Her hair was flaxen and her eyes the same honey-mead gold as his, but there were undeniable features of her mother as well. Her cheekbones were narrow, high but not nearly rivaling the statuesque features of Vivienne. The cheery roundness of her cheeks were reminiscent of the short amount of time Diana had spent at a healthy weight, and her neck was slender, delicate even. Her ears were large, fighting to peek out through her hair, but she would grow into them. There was a deftness in her fingers that was infallible, drumming an absentminded beat against the tabletop. At the moment, she was staring down Cullen, waiting patiently for him to continue. The impasse lasted only a moment longer.

     “Are you my father?” The swig of wine Cullen had started exploded from his mouth, leaving him coughing for air. Outside, something large broke and the sound of rushing feet grew louder before stopping in its entirety. Mia simply watched passively, a handkerchief already offered out to Cullen. He took it gratefully, wiping his face clean.

     “You did that on purpose!” Cullen admonished, waving away the poor barmaid that tried to refill his mug again. Mia leaned back, settling her hands back under the table into her lap. She was unapologetic.

     “Of course I did. If you want the truth, ask for it when it's least expected,” Mia shrugged. The way she sat made the message clear--She wanted answers.

     “Who taught you that? Dorian?” Cullen made a note to speak with Dorian once he could peel him out wherever Bull had secreted him.

     “No. My mother. Altus Dorian taught me history, magic theory, languages. Lady Trevelyan taught me to play the Game.” She sounded worried at mentioning Diana, bringing her glass to her lips. “She told me stories about this place. All of her adventures. But, she only told me one story of my father.” She sipped delicately, closing her eyes as she recalled the words. “She only told it to me once. She never called you by name. It's like she’s scared to say it.”

     “I…” Mia stopped, looking up at Cullen. Something appeared hopeful in her, nearly glowing as she watched him. “I didn’t know about you until I was captured.” She nodded, listening.

     “How did you get caught, anyway?” Mia asked. Cullen’s hands tightened around his mug dangerously, threatening to break it.

     “Samson. I was in Emprise Du Lion, looking for the Wardens. I’d been hiking for days and walked right into a trap. He’d been tracking me for ages.” He paused, letting his gaze wander to the window, where several faces were pressed anxiously together. There was no point in shooing them away. “Dorian said Di- your mother killed Samson?” Mia shivered, a sour expression on her face.

     “Corypheus made her. Samson was starting to question him, so he made Mother kill him. He kept saying it was a reward for everything Samson did to her.” She slammed her fist into the table, one of the small silver daggers sticking deep into the wood. “I wish I’d gotten to say something to him.” The venom in her voice took him aback, and he wondered just how much Mia had seen growing up.

     “Mia-”

          “You still haven’t answered my question.”  She remained staring at the slightly wiggling dagger, the flaming blade emblem bright in the candlelight on its hilt. The silence was heavy on them until he finally nodded, trying to keep his composure even as tears gathered in his eyes. Mia nodded back, her posture relaxing.

     “If I had known-”

     “I’m not angry, if that’s what you think.” A smile finally crept onto Mia’s face, tears making her eyes sparkle. “Mother used to speak to you in her sleep, even after she stopped praying. She’d pray to the Maker that you were safe, somewhere far away. I used to be angry until Dorian told me that if Corypheus was able to get you, there would be nothing Mother wouldn’t do to keep us safe.”

     “I should have been there to keep you safe.” The thought finally wrenched itself into life, the admission of guilt making his stomach turn. Mia slipped off her chair, walking around the table to stand before him. She watched him a moment longer before taking one of his hands in both of hers, rubbing her thumbs over the callouses on his knuckles. Cullen felt, in that moment, like he could break in this small girl’s grasp.

     “You did. Just because you weren’t with me doesn’t mean you didn’t keep me safe. Now, you can do it in person,” Mia whispered before hugging her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. His own arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight as he finally cried. They stayed like this for an age before Cullen pulled back slightly, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead.

     “Yes, I am your father, Mia.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear any theories or ideas of what you'd like to see happen next!


	10. The Devil's Invoking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well?” Solas stared down his nose at Diana. “You yourself said several times that there would be no happy ending for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda tired writing this one, but I got another chapter up! ^^

    The wind that blew through the skeleton of the Winter Palace echoed hollowly through the broken bones and empty rooms. It picked up the dust that had settled over the long years before tossing it in long waves, settling like ripples upon the pale marble floors. An eerie silence followed each gust, only serving to amplify the feeling of deadness that inhabited the once rambunctious halls. Deep within, the ballroom was lit by a large bonfire, burning on magic alone. The light threw shadows far into the crevasses of the dance floor. The scars of a battle long past were deep, and Halamshiral looked never to heal.

    Corypheus stood at the very end, facing the balcony that overlooked the expired garden, all dried and yellowed. His gaze was fixated on the horizon, far to the West. The sun had set hours before, and if the everlasting smoke ever cleared, the most beautiful starlit night would have been visible. No emotion passed his face. It was the solid look of stoic determination that remained, no matter the news.

    “Report.” Corypheus didn’t bother to turn to face the scout that bore a scrap of paper; He had seen the spy ride in only minutes before. The scout bowed low, his knee cracking against the stone floor as his foot slipped in eagerness. He held back a wince as he began.

    “Elder One, the demon you sent out has been dispatched. The lyrium overtook it. Reports say that it drove the demon crazy,” The scout whispered. In past times, Diana had stood in the shadows, waiting to deliver her master’s displeasure for any sour news. It was strange to stand before Corypheus and fear his wrath directly. Corypheus turned slightly, a hazy red eye fixated on the scout. His gaze alone kept the poor man on his knee.

    “Did it accomplish its job?” Words failed the man and he shook his head.

    “It… It died before it could kill the Commander. My lord?” Corypheus faced the scout, floating towards the man until he towered over him. In person, Corypheus was monstrous, hunks of red lyrium and chains melting from his flesh. Power oozed from him, terrifying the scout until he lowered his gaze. Only the slight nod from Corypheus spurred him on. “What was the demon supposed to do?” Corypheus folded his arms, long fingers wrapping around his bony forearms.

    “To demoralize. Taking the Inquisitor alone was not enough. If the remnants of this feeble resistance saw their glorious Herald murder their Commander, they would disband.” His eyes sharpened for a moment, considering simply killing the scout to sate his anger. He was no mere mortal, and he would not bow so low, for now. A foul smell emanated from the man, forcing Corypheus to retreat, floating back to his post. “What else?”

    “Your servant was last seen passing the Colossus-”

         “I know this already. What else?” The sound of shuffling papers echoed through the room before the scout spoke again.

    “Uh, The Qunari have sent their demands again. Several dreadnoughts still have the coasts surrounded-”

         “I asked for news. The Qunari will wear with time.” An absentminded wave sent the scout running, bowing as he left the room. Corypheus’ eyes returned to the horizon, singlemindedly staring as if to summon something from far beyond his reach.

    There was still time.

 

* * *

  
  


    “Well?” Solas stared down his nose at Diana. She remained powerless, her form pinned beneath Solas’ will. The occasional wisp of voices rippled across the Fade, shimmering silver and blue. Diana’s glare spoke volumes alone. Solas sighed dejectedly, sipping from a teacup as he leaned back, the fade-formed seat growing a back to accommodate him. “You yourself said several times that there would be no happy ending for you.”

    “I meant it. What I didn’t mean was that I’d sacrifice everything for a sliver of a chance at success!” Her fingertips were shredded from her attempts to claw at the floor, to gain any purchase towards Solas. Long bloody streaks attracted the few tiny spirits to them, making the green-gray floor glow gently.

    “The likelihood of that working-”

         “Is slim to none! The Wardens have a plan-”

    “That hinges on finding something no one has seen since before you commanded the Inquisition.” Solas scowled, looking past Diana at the forms that formed and fell in the fog. The twisted chuckle that wrenched from Diana made his face fall. Rising, he waved his hand and the pressure on her lightened enough for her to sit up.

    Here, in the Fade, his influence alone had been enough to return her to how he remembered her; youthful, full of color and fight, the very image of the Herald of Andraste. In just a short time, Corypheus’ influence could be seen. Her hair bleached white, and the glow in her skin died. Even as he approached her, red tendrils were growing under her skin, incensed by the power of the Fade. Her shoulders shook with the chuckles that grew in her, growing higher and higher. Words dripped from them, speaking something ancient and deep in a broken melody. He allowed it for a time, studying until it repeated.

    “Diana. You once trusted my judgement,” Solas whispered, crouching down to her eye level. The action was not lost on her--He could rise whenever he wished, but she would always be at his mercy here. The thrumming of the lullaby made the Fade shake and shiver, a beat raising waves under her hands so the stone moved like liquid.

    “An obvious mistake,” she snarled, her voice layered with something else. Someone else.

    Solas placed his palm on the center of Diana’s forehead, his hand glowing as he chanted something. Pain speared through Diana’s head, only the pressure of Solas’ magic holding her still as she writhed. The scream that ripped through her echoed across the Fade, making the magics both new and ancient turn to watch. By sheer force of will, she held her eyes open, watching as Solas pulled something pulsing and bright red from her. The crystal itself screamed, tearing the breath from her as Solas pulled it free, letting it hang in the air between them. In its depths, an image of Corypheus slammed its fists against the sides, glaring between Diana and Solas.

    “This is a gift. A temporary gift, but a gift nonetheless.” Solas rose, motioning the crystal away as it grew, glowing bright blindingly red before exploding into a cascade of shards. Diana panted, her hands clenched around her head. The lullaby had stopped.

    “What did you do? Why?” Her words were soft. She rose, the pressure gone. A second chair appeared at the table, a matching teacup growing from the stone. Solas sat, motioning her to the other chair as if they were simply back at Skyhold, ready to discuss some theory.

    “What I did was simple. I removed Corypheus’ influence on you, through the Blight specifically. Why is just as simple,” he said, pouring Diana’s cup full of something warm and honeyed. A friendly smile crept onto his face as he watched Diana sip. Her returning smile was warm and distantly familiar. “I did it because I call you my friend. As soon as you return to the world, the Blight will grow, just as before.” Diana frowned, setting her teacup down.

    “I wondered. There’s no way to remove his influence completely?” Solas copied her, frowning deeper.

    “There is one, what we discussed before. In theory, it would remove your connection to the Fade and, by extension, the Anchor. If you are with both of them, I believe King Alistair knows how to perform the ritual.” His lip curled in disgust, the idea alone turning both of their stomachs. “Preferably a last resort.” Liquid sloshed out of Diana’s cup as her hand shook, floating through the air in a globule and out past her sight.

    “The very last.” The Fade seemed to waver, sand blowing at Diana’s feet and the wind wrenched the cup out of her fingers. Solas was untouched, incredibly pristine as Diana’s skin tanned and burned. A twinge of pain made her look down at her arm, the wound open and bleeding profusely. Solas sipped from his cup one last time before dismissing the table, crossing the span between them to rest his hands on her shoulders.

    “If Corypheus suspects you, he will step in before they can help. Retrieve your cure, Diana.” Even as he spoke, his hands began to shake her, jostling her head back and forth. A slap forced her eyes open, gasping for breath as if she had been drowning.

    Alistair stared Diana in the eyes, searching her for any sign of the encroaching Blight.

    “Are you alright? You collapsed, but then the song…” He trailed off, listening as the lullaby roused in the distance. Diana nodded, hissing as the lyrium crackled and grew to fill the wound in her arm. The sun beat down heavily around them, only a pillar protecting them from the scorching light. Rose and Baxter were nowhere to be seen.

    “Where’s-”

         “She went on ahead. Just in case.” Alistair’s face was solemn, discomfort souring his features at even the briefest time of being apart. “What happened?”

    “Mage stuff, Ser,” Diana breathed, the heat making her sweat through the thin shift she had thrown over herself before. Alistair simply stared at her, displeased.

         “Mage stuff. Right. As long as there’s no swooping, I suppose.” He sat next to her, a respectful distance between them as he stared into the distance. Heat made the air dance about in a shimmery haze.

    “Swooping? Mages don’t… don’t swoop as far as I know,” she panted, closing her eyes.

         “Well, certain mages. Witches, really,” Alistair chuckled weakly. He turned to look at her as she whined, the Blight singing louder in her mind. “Are you o-”

    “Tell me about the witches. Please.” He was surprised to see tears dripping down her cheeks, cleaning the grime from her skin. Where they ran, the tattooes seemed clear of the red lyrium’s influence, blue lines through angry red. Her lips quivered and her fingers dug into the sand.

         “I assume you met Morrigan.”

 

 


	11. Start At The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  “Move!” Diana screamed, pulling Dorian by one of the many belts that strapped across his back. She tugged firmly and, a moment later, the ground burst in bright green flames, scorching the stone where Dorian had stood. He nodded appreciatively, but she had already turned away. Her staff swung in wide arches, cutting down waves of demons and red templars alike. One brave templar attempted to sneak up behind her, only to have her blade appear through his gut. She twisted the blade, her lip turning up in disgust as she pulled away. The bright metal of her gauntlet was splattered in blood, but it was the feral sneer on her face that made Dorian retreat a few steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wants to help share, I've got the first ten chapters up on Tumblr as well at thelionscapture.tumblr.com
> 
> Always willing to hear comments/critiques/suggestions!

_Ten years earlier_

 

     “Move!” Diana screamed, pulling Dorian by one of the many belts that strapped across his back. She tugged firmly and, a moment later, the ground burst in bright green flames, scorching the stone where Dorian had stood. He nodded appreciatively, but she had already turned away. Her staff swung in wide arches, cutting down waves of demons and red templars alike. One brave templar attempted to sneak up behind her, only to have her blade appear through his gut. She twisted the blade, her lip turning up in disgust as she pulled away. The bright metal of her gauntlet was splattered in blood, but it was the feral sneer on her face that made Dorian retreat a few steps.

     “Di?” She spun, a growl rising in her throat. Most of her hair had turned white in the last few months, and a tremor had taken hold of her limbs. Now, a vein of red pierced the bright cerulean blue of her eyes. Her normally friendly smile was gone. She stalked forward only to be stopped as Cole appeared before her, his blades tearing her staff from her fingers.

     “Dorian, go ahead. We’ll meet you there,” Cole said simply, as if it were any other day. Dorian nodded, moving quickly up the steps. Only Cole and Diana stood in the broken clearing. He stepped back a few steps, blades in hand, but otherwise passive. Diana’s shoulders shook as she panted, a fight warring in her mind. Her feet danced, strafing in an attempt to get close enough to strike him with blade or fist. Cole, ever omnipotent, appeared behind her each time she charged, never striking.

     “FIGHT ME!” Diana roared, dropping the hilt of her spirit blade to the ground as she lunged with clawed hands. This time, Cole’s hands wrapped around her wrists, clamping down like cold iron. A small sad smile never left his face as he twisted her arms together, folding them around until they crossed in front of her. She raged a minute more before the fire seemed to die in her, exhaustion settling into her core. “Cole?”

     “You weren’t you. I know. Songs singing sadness in you,” Cole mumbled in her ear and, for a moment, she was a little girl who had climbed into bed with her brother after a nightmare and he was telling her calming stories just soft enough for their mother to not hear. “You don’t want me to tell Cullen?” He released her, rubbing her wrists gently. Her staff appeared in his hands and she took it gratefully.

     “Please don’t. He’s already worried. If he hears, he won’t leave my side,” Diana sighed, looking over the edge of the broken wall to the battle below.

     Demons and red templars alike battled against the Inquisition’s forces. In the chaos, it was nearly impossible to tell the groups apart, but her gut told her they were winning. It was irrelevant if she didn’t cut the head off the damnable snake that was Corypheus. Overhead, a giant dragon battled the archdemon-esque dragon, jaws snapping loudly as one made a booming noise Diana recognized as Morrigan’s scary laughter.

     “But he won’t. He promised.” Diana froze, facing Cole with wide eyes. His head was tilted like a dog’s, curiosity and confusion endearing him to her. With his blades sheathed, she felt a sisterly protectiveness of him.

     “Cole. What do you mean?” He smiled widely, almost his whole face obscured by the giant floppy hat he always wore. Cole took her left hand in his, fingers dancing over the dull metal band that sat on her ring finger.

     “He promised. ‘Maker, I do so swear to protect this mage as my wife and friend, from now to the end of days.’ Hands shaking, Maker please let her say yes,” Cole whispered, reading the history the tiny band whispered to the Fade. It never failed to surprise Diana.

     “No one knows, Cole. We didn’t even get it officated. Don’t- Maker, Cole, don’t tell anyone,” Diana mumbled, pulling Cole into a tight hug, her limbs trembling in a way that made her angry. Cole’s smile was congenial, his nimble fingers brushing her white and auburn hair back out of her face.

     “Cullen will have to know eventually. You have to be careful. You’ll hurt it.” Diana’s brows furrowed again, getting the ample exercise they did around him as she attempted to discern his cryptic replies.

     “Hurt it? This isn’t really the time for a discussion about pronouns, Cole, but once we’re done,” she started, crouching before running towards cover as a fiery ball hurtled towards them. Cole followed closely, overtaking her and pulling her behind a half-broken wall. Dorian’s shadow played on the wall opposite them, several others fighting at his side.

     “Not Cullen. It.” He rested his hand on her stomach, smiling broadly. It was a strange oxymoron in the heat of battle, the warm smile Cole was giving her stomach. His hand was cool even through the cloth of her battle robes.

     “It? What-” Diana stopped, bile rising in her throat as her mind started to piece things together.

     “Warm, soft, safe, love you,” Cole mumbled, his eyes going wide when he looked up at Diana’s frozen face of terror. “You just have to be careful. Everything will be fine.”

     “Everything will not be fine, Cole!” She shrieked. Her hands were tight on her staff, knuckles white between the metal caps of her gauntlets. Lips moved noiselessly for a minute before Cole recoiled, stepping several feet away from her.

     “No.”

          “You’ve done it before! Make me forget! Please! I can’t keep fighting if I know!”

     “No.”

     The Iron Bull appeared at the top of the steps, splattered in blood of varying states of drying. His face was plastered with a giant grin, flushed slightly with the effort of battle.

     “Everything ok, Boss?” Diana stayed almost seated, eyes pleading with Cole. The moment she took her gaze off him to look at Bull, he vanished.

     “ _Merde_.” Bull watched as her shoulders dropped, her head following. He waited, letting her fold in on herself a moment longer before Diana seemed to resolve herself. Something cold and emotionless overtook her, and Bull nodded. This wasn’t the first time he had seen such a thing, even from her. Didn’t mean it didn’t scare the living daylights out of him when she looked up with that distant stare that reminded him of the Tranquil.

     “Boss?” She stood, her staff buzzing to life when she began marching up the stairs, shooting a bright purple bolt towards a demon as it snuck up behind Bull.

          “We fight on.”

* * *

  
     Diana ran her hand over her left ring finger, eyes closed as she tried to remember how it had felt. There had been tiny nicks on one side where the ridging from the coin’s casting had never melted away, and the edge of a face. He had left a dent for a gem to be placed at some point. She smiled gently, letting her hands fall to either side as her mind faltered under the bright sun.

     It had been hours of subtly moving with the shadow the pillar cast, Alistair close beside her, and now the sun was finally starting to set. They had started sharing stories, but the oppressive heat had finally forced Alistair to trail off, promising to tell her how Rose had once stolen a full pie off the cart of some angry merchant to give to some orphans. The heat broke like a fever and, by the time the sun tucked itself behind the horizon, the air was cool enough to move in. Alistair stretched, yawning loudly while his back popped and cracked. Diana winced, leaning to the side so her legs would finally regain feeling.

     “She’s not back,” Diana mumbled, neither fear nor hope in her voice while she bit into the piece of jerky Alistair offered her. He shrugged, ripping a piece off for himself.

     “She’s got Baxter. Rose takes her sweet time, too. Royalty,” Alistair scoffed, earning him a light chuckle. His eyes were fixated on the rising moon, watching for Rose’s return. They were silent, enjoying the night air before Alistair spoke again.

     “When was the last time you saw him?” Diana’s hands stilled, her fingertips ghosting over where her ring should have been. Alistair watched her throat shift under her heavy swallowing, worry crinkling her brows.

     “Have… Have you seen him?” Diana’s voice cracked several times, forcing her to start and stop to get the sentence out. Alistair bumped her shoulder with his, making her look up at him.

     “Your brother? Yes. He helped us through the Emprise Du Lion. Vincent might have the best chevaliers left,” Alistair smiled. Diana’s face broken with a giant smile that made Alistair’s heart ache. “He’s got them pulling Corypheus’s tail in every direction. Gaspard was right to put him in charge. He spoke highly of you.”

     “I haven’t seen him since Halamshiral. During the ball. It was difficult to talk there,” Diana grinned, ripping more of the jerky into pieces. Her mouth watered as each delicious piece was savored on her tongue. The smoky meat reminded her of Skyhold, of Haven, of home.

     “And Cullen?”

     Diana's heart thumped painfully, her ears ringing at the sound of his name. The jerky fell from her fingers to the sand, too weak to stand or hold anything. Images flashed in her mind: Golden curls, amber eyes, scar on the lip, a guilty smile as he whispered, battleworn hands holding hers-

     “I-I-I-I haven’t, uh, I mean,” Diana’s words stuck like molasses to her lips, refusing to be spoken. Her hands clawed at her chest as if meaning to rip her own heart out and toss it to the unforgiving sands. Alistair crawled over to her, standing on his knees as he took her hands in his, giving her something to hold onto as her mind panicked and reeled.

     “Diana, madame, Herald, look at me,” Alistair spoke softly, watching her wild eyes spin before settling somewhat. With a gentle thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, amazed once more--Whatever had happened when she passed out had caused the lyrium in her to calm somehow. The roots of her hair were now dark brown in the night, and the tattoos on her face were a deep purple with mottled patches of bright blue. This close, he could see a spatter of freckles as thick as the night sky with stars across the bridge of her nose.

     “When Rose comes back, she can’t cure me.” The words were matter-of-factly, calm and almost alien when she spoke. Alistair gripped her hands tighter, his own face serious.

     “When Rose comes back, you’ll be the first to be cured. She promised and she doesn’t go back on her promises. Just ask Connor,” Alistair insisted. Diana shook her head slowly.

     “Do you really think that I could just be cured and walk back to the forces that are left? ‘Hey everyone, remember how I failed to protect us and then terrorized you for the next decade? Guess what? I’m cured! We can all go back to being friends and just forget how I tried to kill you.’” Diana laughed cruelly, shrugging while letting her hands fall from his. Alistair stood, staring out across the desert before letting his head fall back.

     “Well…. well… fuck!” Diana watched as he kicked his helmet. It skittered across the sands, spinning like a top before falling on its side, one silver wing sticking straight up. He paced back and forth, seeming to have a discussion with himself before returning over to where Diana sat.

     “We have to cure me in front of the Inquisition. Alistair, what is the cure?” Alistair stared at his hands, wringing them together before speaking.

     “Rose knows what it is. She didn’t tell me in case we were caught. She said it was something she saw before she became a Warden. I have no clue how we’re going to get you across Thedas without Corypheus noticing you,” he rambled, plucking his gloves off while running his fingers through the sand.

     “WOOF!”

     Alistair and Diana looked towards the happy bark where Rose stood, framed in silver moonlight, one hand on her cocked hip as she waved Baxter to follow her. The mabari bound over to the abused helmet, picking it up in his mouth and bringing it back to Alistair. The reunited couple shared a smile before Rose knelt down next to Diana.

     “How are you?” Rose signed, pressing the back of her hand to Diana’s head. Smiling a little, Rose sat back, holding a leather pouch in her lap.

     “Did you find it?” Alistair whispered, all the color drained from his face. Rose nodded, holding up her hand with all fingers stretched out before unthreading the bag. Peeling back the leather flap, Rose offered Diana a look into the bag.

     Deep in the bottom, cushioned by dirt and moss, five white flowers blossomed, each with a deep red center. An overwhelming smell of sweet honey flooded her senses. Alistair looked in and stopped, shocked.

     “I thought it only grew in the Wilds,” He finally mumbled, watching his wife thread the bag back together with dexterous hands.

     “Corypheus made me destroy the Korcari Wilds. Its just wasteland now,” Diana spoke, remembering him give her the order. “It was one of the first places he made me attack.” Rose shrugged, placing the bag in her pack before peeling her gloves off to free her hands.

     “It did only grow in the Wilds. I found one the last time I looked here, but I didn’t think about it until Baxter got hurt.” Baxter, who sat next to Rose, licked her cheek, woofing gently. “Darkspawn attacked us and he got bitten. Something must be just right down in those cracks to let the flowers grow.”

     All was silent as they thought. They had a cure, but now…

     “We need to get Diana back to the Inquisition. Do you know how?” Alistair asked, rummaging through his own bag for a map. The Wardens planned between themselves while Diana stared at the stars, twinkling overhead. Several constellations sparkled against the midnight black sky. A snake, a sword, a lion, a boat…

     “How far is it to the sea?” Rose stopped, measuring the distance on the map before looking wide-eyed at Diana, spinning her finger at her temple. “It’s not crazy.”

     “The Qunari hold the waters right now and I’m pretty sure they’d kill you on sight. They might really hate you,” Alistair shrugged, looking back at his wife before shaking his head. “No, Rose, I know that smile.”

     A big smile stretched from cheek to cheek as Rose stood, packing her things away.

     “Don’t worry, darling. The Arishok owes me a few favors.” Rose slid her gloves back on, offering her hand to Diana, who took it gratefully.

     “Eight days of solid marching towards a possibly blood-thirsty group of giant Qunari. Brings people together, Andraste’s knickers,” Alistair grumbled, hoisting his own pack onto his shoulder.

     Diana trembled, wrapping her arms around herself. In just two weeks, she might be with her daughter, if Dorian had followed their plan. In two weeks, she might see him again.

      _And then what?_

 

 


	12. Continue On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Diana smelled the salt of the sea, she laughed loudly, letting her head fall back in joy. She could almost taste the ocean on her tongue as she pulled herself over a dune. The waters were dark blue and endless, only the sight of the terrible dreadnaughts twisting the otherwise peaceful visage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to see people reading this! ^_^   
> Please, comments are always welcome!

     The moment Diana smelled the salt of the sea, she laughed loudly, letting her head fall back in joy. She could almost taste the ocean on her tongue as she pulled herself over a dune. The waters were dark blue and endless, only the sight of the terrible dreadnaughts twisting the otherwise peaceful visage. Alistair and Rose flanked her, standing upon the rocky beach. Baxter had run ahead and was already gamboling about the sandy shore, picking up various branches and tossing them about. Diana was giddy, peeling off the aged leather sandals she had picked from a skeleton miles before and running to the evermoving tide. The water was warm and soothing, running over the various cuts and wounds that sprinkled her feet and legs. The Wardens watched as Diana lept into an oncoming wave, letting it wash over her. Rose’s smile was wide, but Alistair noticed a touch of worry in her eyes.

     “What is it, love?” He took Rose’s pack from her, dropping it next to Diana’s forgotten sack. Rose sat, kicking her boots off. A pile of sand fell from each boot and she hissed, massaging a bloody sore on her heel.

     “If I can talk to the Arishok, he’ll get us to Ferelden. Diana…” Rose’s hands fell, trying to come up with the right words. Alistair nodded, sitting down with a loud groan. His knees weren’t what they used to be.

     “You don’t know if she’ll bend to Corypheus again,” he whispered, twisting his torso until his back popped several times. Rose’s face was dark with worry, a hand on Alistair’s back as she tried to rub a knot out of his shoulder. “What if we made her into a Warden? Would that help keep the Blight back?” Rose shook her head, looking guilty as she pulled a dark vial out of the side of her bag.

     “I already tried. Lots of times, but nothing,” Rose frowned, pushing the vial deep into her bag to be forgotten. Alistair sighed, giving his wife a dirty look.

     “You should have warned me, darling. How did you even get that?” His worry ran deep as Rose simply shrugged again. She never told him the most dangerous parts of their time apart, and that’s how she wanted it to stay. They looked up as Diana shrieked, giggling loudly as Baxter jumped into the waves after her. The pair danced about in the salty water, chasing one another across the coastline.

     A loud bang sounded from the closest ship, followed by a bright red spark lighting the air. Diana froze, watching the light sparkle across the water before shouts could be heard from the dreadnought.

     “What was that?” She yelled, running back to the shore. Diana watched as Baxter grabbed her pack by the strap and pulled, dragging it behind the dune. Rose nodded, patting the mabari on the head before motioning Alistair to follow him.

     “That’s my cue.”

 

* * *

  
  


     “She’s been spotted!” Leliana shouted, bursting into the War Room. Mia gave a shout of surprise as she fell of the giant table, attempted to stand, and hit her head on the underside. Josephine giggled softly, pulling the tired girl into her seat. Cullen, who had been slowly falling asleep in one of the larger chairs, jumped to attention.

     “Where?” He leaned forward and set his fists on the table, eyes hawk-like on the giant map before him. Someone had rescued the map from the ruins of Skyhold, evident only by the several notes and dagger marks that marred the parchment. Every so often, Diana’s scrawl would be seen next to a town or city, and it made his heart ache as he remembered teasing about this small unelegant part of her. Leliana sunk a small dagger into the paper, just before the coast to the far southwest. Smoothing a corner of the map, Josephine rolled her eyes.

     “Must you always do that?” Leliana smiled sweetly, placing a hand over Josephine’s as she continued.

     “A merchant caravan saw a party traveling out of the Wastes towards the coast,” She dragged her finger across, measuring the distance in fingerprints. Mia watched, yawning widely, as the adults began to plan.

     “The Qun have the coasts locked down. Going to them would be suicidal,” Cullen worried. Gears worked in his head as he tried to imagine what kind of forces would be needed so far to the edge of Orlesian territory. Leliana, however, was smiling.

     “Unless the Hero of Ferelden was with her. The message was clear; Three humans and one dog. Diana, Cousland, and-”

          “And King Alistair?” Josephine gasped, her hands already rifling through stacks of agreements and contracts. Leliana nodded.

     “If Cousland is there, then the Qunari will help them, at least to the Storm Coast. From there, it would take less than four days to get them to Haven.”

     Cullen sat, strength leaving his legs. The chair creaked loudly, the joints shifting slightly. Silence settled like dust upon them, only the crackling of candles accenting the facts. Mia stood, walking around the table, looking at the markers as Leliana and Josephine turned their backs, whispering softly to one another. She could see her mother’s writing in the margins, running her fingers over the ink. Cullen watched as Mia, serious and studious, spread her fingers between the markers.

     “Less than two weeks?” She looked to Cullen, who nodded.

          “Sooner, maybe. I believe Josephine might have someone who could pick them up from outside Denerim. If the weather is passable, we could see her in ten days.” His smile was warm, and Mia returned it, looking up as Leliana walked back to them.

     Cullen’s smile fell. A grave pallor had turned Leliana pale.

     “Josephine, would you put Mia to bed? The Commander and I need to talk.”

 

* * *

  
  


     Diana and Alistair waited for countless hours, exchanging stories with whispered words and muffled laughter. Baxter, ever watchful, continued to prowl the coast line. His footsteps were occasionally loud enough to hear, but the ocean continued to purr in large waves.

     “So then, I told him that it was only the one who could recite it the quickest that would get rewarded. The next time it came to prayers, he sounded like a crazed Chasind!” Alistair guffawed, covering his mouth as Diana dissolved into tiny giggles. If they survived all this, Alistair promised himself to tell her a new story every day, just to see this sorrowful woman smile.

     A pile of sand shifted and the pair jumped to their feet, weapons ready. Blade and spell caught the moonlight, sparkling to every corner of their little alcove before Baxter woofed happily, letting them drop their guard.

     “Rose!” Alistair lept over the dune, his worry betrayed, as he ran to hold his wife. Rose now bore a few open wounds across her arms, one running the length of her cheekbone on the right side of her face. “Maker! What happened?” Rose looked proud and tired, carrying herself the way the royal portraits had shown.

     “The Arishok isn’t there, so I asked for passage. They said no, I might have invoked some rights. Defended them,” Rose’s hands danced slowly while she let Diana’s hands hover over the wounds, feeding only the tiniest tendrils of magic into the deepest ones. Blood was caked to her blades and down her legs, a spray of dried crimson across her chest that told more of the story.

     “Rose, darling, don’t do that again! You have died!” Alistair hugged her close, apologizing as she winced. Baxter continued to whine, licking at Rose’s knuckles.

     “The point is we have a ride. Under one condition,” Rose sighed, looking sadly at Diana. She stepped back, wringing her hands. Diana had seen the reports, listened to Varric’s stories.

     “They want me to travel like their mages, don’t they? The Saarebas?” Her skin itched at the thought of being bound and chained like a slave. Again. In the back of her mind, the calling echoed deeply. She could hear Alistair distantly, coming up with other ways to get to their goal.

     “It would take longer, but going East on foot is possible-”

          “No, Corypheus would find us before then. This is safe,” Diana sighed, her shoulders already falling. The angry twin stares she received made her step back. “Safe…er?”

     Listening to Alistair arguing quietly with Rose, Diana walked back to the shore where a longboat waited, two hulking Qunari with burning eyes watching her every move. The boat held a small set of the armor the Saarebas were known for, probably meant for their children.

     Fear made her limbs shake, but the vision of Mia running to her pushed her onward.

 

 


	13. Ne Me Quitte Pas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep in the belly of the rocking ship, Diana knelt on the soaking wooden floor, uneven boards tilting her at awkward angles. Only the thick chains that ran from her armor to the cell walls kept her in a semblance of upright. With each surge of the ship, the chains rattled morbidly. The restricting armor Diana had been forced to don was cool against her skin, even the helmet that echoed her breathing back to her. Her arms were shackled, pulled out to either side and belted with more of the heavy metal. Something in the metal seemed to dull her senses, pushing the Fade blissfully out of reach. Her hands hung limply in the cuffs, fingers bouncing as the ship raced into another wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, another chapter! Song is "Ne Me Quitte Pas"
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

Deep in the belly of the rocking ship, Diana knelt on the soaking wooden floor, uneven boards tilting her at awkward angles. Only the thick chains that ran from her armor to the cell walls kept her in a semblance of upright. With each surge of the ship, the chains rattled morbidly. The restricting armor Diana had been forced to don was cool against her skin, even the helmet that echoed her breathing back to her. Her arms were shackled, pulled out to either side and belted with more of the heavy metal. Something in the metal seemed to dull her senses, pushing the Fade blissfully out of reach. Her hands hung limply in the cuffs, fingers bouncing as the ship raced into another wave.

     "Why do they keep saluting her?" Alistair whispered in Rose's ear, walking back to their assigned bunks for the journey. They had been given a fairly warm welcome after Rose's 'clarification' with the ship's leader, doubly so as they carried precious cargo. Indeed, whenever a Qunari guard or one of the others passed Diana's cell, they stopped, slapping a fist to their chest before bowing their head. The few Saarebas that were allowed on the ship seemed to watch Diana with interest, pausing whenever she was in sight before retreating. The ship's captain, a large grizzled Qunari with twisted horns and a scar from each battle, barked something at a few hands before answering the Wardens.

     "Under the Qun, Saarebas are hated and respected. They suffer yet endure. Such strength is rarely seen in our warriors or spies," the Captain growled, spitting out a black tar-like globule before stuffing more leaves between his lips. "If your story is true, the Betrayer has suffered the most while protecting her people." He paused to look at Diana. Her head hung low with the weight of the strange horned helmet. Only the smallest slits near her eyes allowed any light to filter in. The armor was heavy, draped in chains and buckles, weighing her to the floor. Her shoulders moved slowly with each controlled breath she took. The Captain huffed, turning his back to her. "She would do well under the Qun."

    "In another world, maybe," Rose agreed, Alistair translating for her instinctively.

    Under the mass of metal and chain, Diana had moved past the mind numbing panic and into a blank state. If it had been visible, her face would have betrayed nothing. Her eyelids were closed, lips parted as she concentrated on each breath. The ocean itself was terrifying to her, but there was some comfort in the constant pressure on her body. The sound of the waves filled her ears, drowning out the mumble of voices. Her mind kept reaching for tendrils of thought and magic, only to be pressed back with a firm hand. For the first time in memory, she was calm. The blight's calling was still strong, ringing in the depths of her mind. Instead, a new song seemed to shine through it, a single voice singing loudly.

 

* * *

 

    "Well, how do I look?" Diana spun slowly on her heel. The Winter Palace was resplendent with jeweled gowns and golden masks, the gentle sound of strings and music floating out into the foyer. A passing group of ladies snickered cruelly as Diana pulled at the hem of the dress shirt, her face turning the same color as the red velvet. Josephine and Leliana shared smiles as Diana tugged on the back as well, hoping to hide her behind from the more intense stares she was receiving.

    "Just like the rest of us, Di, which is the point," Josephine answered, coming around to flank her, an arm tucked into hers. "When the court sees us as a unified vision, they will take us more seriously."

    A flurry of voices caused the women to turn, watching Grand Duke Gaspard enter, a legion of servants and footmen in tow. Josephine and Leliana stiffened, bowing low as the would-be Emperor approached them. Their greetings were unheard, however, as Gaspard took Diana's hand, kissing the back of it gently.

    "Mademoiselle Trevelyan-D'Allard, you've come a way since we last met!" His voice boomed, a grin evident under his mask. Diana's smile was just as big, taking his hand in hers as she curtseyed. "First my cousin, then a mage, now the Herald of Andraste? You have made some waves, dear Dianella." She blushed as she felt Leliana's piercing stare press into the back of her head.

   "Gaspard, you know I wouldn't miss a chance this big to annoy Celene for the world. May I introduce-" Diana stopped as Gaspard raised a hand, cutting her off.

    "If you wish to raise Celene's ire, you cannot go in there dressed like a soldier." Diana looked down at the soft red velvet and gold sash, a small pout rising even as Josephine seemed ready to rip Gaspard's throat out. He clapped his hands, calling over some of servants, who seemed to appear out of the walls. "Take the Herald to my quarters and get her properly attired."

    "Gaspard, I will be late if you- Oof!" A small elven woman shoved Diana along, pulling her up the staircase in a flash. Gaspard's smile was almost cruel as Leliana stepped forward.

    "What do you think you're doing, Grand Duke?" Her own smile was a display of sharp teeth and sharper words. He raised his hands, bowing his head slightly.

    "If she appeared before Celene like that, it would only take a few chosen words to make her appear to be little more than a Fereldan dog lord's daughter. Besides, I always wanted to see her dressed up," Gaspard chuckled, letting Leliana glean more from this one comment than she had wrenched from Diana in the months since meeting her.

    Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs, his smile falling only slightly as the trio turned to face him. He blushed red, stumbling only a little as he bowed to Gaspard. The men shared a small conversation before Josephine finally stepped in.

    "Are the others here?" Cullen nodded, gesturing to the staircase.

    "They should be with us shortly. Speaking of, where is the Inquisitor?' He glanced about for the telltale pile of auburn and white hair. Gaspard laughed guiltily, earning another scathing look from Leliana.

    "I have her detained, Commander, but not to worry. By the time my people are done with her, you won't recognize her."

 

 

    A mound of tulle and ribbon lay piled on the bed and floor as Diana gripped the bedpost, breathing deeply as the maid tightened a corset around her. A string of curses spouted from Diana with each pull of the silken cords.

    "Mademoiselle, do you have a preference in color?" The maid had asked several times, showing different dresses to Diana. After choosing the same plain dress over and over, the maid had thrown it into a closet before beginning the process of dressing Diana in the restricting corset. Diana shook her head, gasping as the maid tightened the cords once again.

    " _Sacre_ \- Madame, just put me in something I can breathe in!" The maid rolled her eyes, finally tying the cords into a perfect bow.

    "You are complaining, which means you can breathe. Now, silk or satin?"

 

 

    Over an hour passed as Leliana and Josephine worked through the crowd, listening to the growing concerns. Gaspard had finally entered the ballroom, but had refused to be called yet, whispering something to the crier. Cullen had stayed in the foyer, only to be called over by Gaspard himself.

   “If you would, Commander, please escort the Herald into the ballroom once she is ready. I need to speak with the Empress without the thorn in her side on my arm," Gaspard nodded, gesturing to the doorway. The maid from before stood at the entrance, smiling broadly even as curses filtered through the opening. Cullen stepped forward, smoothing his shirt down before walking to the door. Behind him, the crier began to introduce Gaspard. The maid opened the door, stepping through before Diana slipped in. Even without the mask, Cullen barely recognized her.

    The white was gone from her hair, painted and dyed to match the delicately piled and curled tresses that framed the small crystalline tiara balanced precariously on her head. Her face was painted to an almost porcelain pale, the blue tattoo painted as well to accent the blush in her cheeks. Neck and shoulders bared, he could see long scars that disappeared beneath the gold and silver feathered wings that made up the center of her dress. Layer upon layer of thin chicory-blue tulle seemed to blossom from under the almost battle ready bodice. The metallic wings folded up behind her, leaving the center of her chest bared slightly down to her navel.

     The most impressive thing, however, was Diana herself. Gone was the shyness, the unsure footsteps of the abandoned mage, the tremulous voice full of questioning. Had he not known better, Cullen would have thought Diana to be another noble. Her head was held high, lips slightly pursed as if annoyed by some small detail. Shoulders squared and neck bared as if daring someone to try, Diana strode towards Cullen, who was a mess of loosened curls and red cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair. She stopped on a dime, only the light pitter of slippered feet betraying that there were legs beneath the dress. Her eyes were trained on the door, one hand ready to take his arm.

     “Inquisi-”

          “Don’t. Don’t look at me.” Her words were quiet, but strong. It occurred to him that he had been staring, almost open mouthed at the beauty before him. A man walking by whistled lowly, only to earn a scathing string of Orlesian curses from Diana. Her hand glowed threateningly and the man hurried away, earning a chuckle from Cullen. He dropped his gaze, standing beside her and offering his arm. Her hand was butterfly soft on his as she nodded to the doorman.

     The room gasped as Commander and Inquisitor entered, Gaspard smirking beside the Empress. Whispers traveled through the crowd as Diana dropped Cullen’s arm, striding to the center of the dance floor, dipping lowly and holding the position as the crier began.

     “Introducing Lady Inquisitor Dianella Odette Trevelyan-D’Allard, Daughter of Marchioness Yvette D’Allard of Val Royeaux and the late Bann Henry Trevelyan of Southmere, Mage of the Circle of Ostwick, Leader of the Inquisition and Herald of Andraste.” The crier huffed for breath before stepping away from the bannister, leaving Diana time to look up into the Empress’ eyes. Celene was cold, barely remembering to curtsey to her guest. The whispers on either side of the room never ceased.

     “Empress Celene, the honor is mine,” Diana projected, letting her voice fill the room as she curtseyed once more before walking closer. “It has been too long since we last met.” Celene smiled, bowing her head.

     “Cousin, I had no idea that mages were allowed such titles. Perhaps we should ask your First Enchanter?” Diana’s hands clenched around her skirt, but her smile was unmoved. The crowd seemed enthralled, waiting for Diana’s reply.

     “I’m sure if she were here, she would have much to say. _À votre convenance_ , Empress,” she smiled, all of the timidness of a lion as she rose from her curtsy. Light applause filtered through the audience, a frown settling under Celene’s mask when she finally turned away. Hearing the sharp harsh words as she walked towards her companions, Diana wore a smile more wicked than they had ever seen.

 

 

     “Commander? _Avez un instant_?” Cullen turned, surprised to see Diana in the sea of admirers that had somehow gathered around him. His back was firmly pressed to the wall, already sore from the few wandering hands that had found his backside before he learned better. Most of them disappeared with Diana’s arrival, a few more finding things to do as she gave them stern looks in turn.

     “What do you need, Inquisitor _Dianella_?” Diana glowered at him. She appeared to not have a hair out of place, but the noise he heard from the servants’ quarters said otherwise. Her eyes shifted about before stepping closer to him. It was no secret that they spent more time fighting than on speaking terms, but Cullen trusted that she would avoid raising her voice here.

     “I was wondering if you might have seen or heard anything while-”

          “Lady Herald! What a pleasure to meet you in person.” Cullen stifled a laugh as Diana composed herself before turning to meet whoever had interrupted her, her demeanor moving from annoyed to pleasant to frozen in just a few moments. This woman looked similar to Diana, but with all the makeup and costuming, she looked like every other person to Cullen. He was surprised to see Diana slide an arm behind her, reaching for her staff but instead bumping into Cullen’s hand. Her shoulders barely shook before she spoke.

     “Madame Valois, congratulations on your wedding. I apologize for not being able to make it to the ceremony,” Diana spoke, her voice thread-thin. The woman surveyed them, smiling wide before stepping in a bit closer.

     “Speaking of weddings, when will you and the good Commander be announcing yours?” Cullen stuttered, shocked beyond words until Diana stepped into the woman’s space, forcing her back.

     “I am engaged to my mission, Madame, _et comme vous le savez_. Should I be betrothed, I will invite my close family and friends. Perhaps for your next wedding, you’ll entrust your invitations to a more trustworthy carrier?” The woman smiled, the corner of her mouth quirking up. The smile seemed to only enrage Diana more, stepping closer before the woman retreated a step.

     “Of course, Lady Inquisitor. At your leave.” Madame Valois curtseyed, unfolding her fan before wandering into the crowd. Cullen tapped Diana’s arm.

     “She seemed pleasant. When can we leave? I’d rather not play this Game,” he whispered, chuckling as Diana plucked a glass off the table and gulped whatever it held. “I thought you didn’t drink anymore?”

     “I will if she’s going to be around. Commander, when you can, please find Chevalier Vincent and let him know I wish to speak with him when he has a moment.” Cullen’s smile twisted as Diana downed another drink, shaking her head when the sour taste hit her throat. Her eyes closed, savoring the tingle the drink gave her skin before feeling Cullen’s stern gaze. She didn’t bother to open her eyes, the knuckles on her hand turning white as it tightened. “Commander…”

     “Diana.” A sigh traveled up her body before she opened her eyes, surprised to see how close he had moved in, blocking anyone from their conversation. Concern crinkled the corners of his eyes, making his fingertips shake when they found the back of her hand. “You promised.” Disappointment weighed on her shoulders, her hand hovering over a third glass before pulling back, nodding.

     “I’m sorry. I apologize, Commander,” she whispered, her hand going to the pendant she always wore. Her left hand had turned over, and now his fingertips brushed her palm. A moment later and the weakness was gone, replaced by the strong Inquisitor once more. She nodded, telling him lowly about her small adventure in the hour she was missing. He stood next to her, occasionally nodding as his mind worked to configure any possible attacks, whispering them to her whenever he had the chance. Dorian appeared on a balcony nearby, motioning to Diana.

     “Duty calls, Inquisitor,” Cullen sighed, bringing her hand up to his lips in a mimicry of the pairs around them. He didn’t expect the blush that rose to her cheeks, nor her letting his lips brush over her hand. She curtseyed, turning to chase after the already fleeing Dorian.

     “Cullen?” His name was sweet on her lips and, for a fleeting second, he felt young and love-stricken. She was a vision haloed in moonlight and he could let himself imagine she might have some feeling other than sickened detestment for him. The small smile she gave him only fueled the hope. “Save a dance for me?”

     He slumped against the wall, watching her lift her skirts and run, disappearing behind a door. She would be the death of him.

 

 

     Leliana wandered her way through the foyer, unease making her nose itch. The sight of honey gold hair in the trophy room pulled her after the waylaid Commander, grinning as he turned to face her.

     “Any news?” Cullen’s hands were wringing together, and he resumed his pacing. Leliana shut the door, watching two of her agents block the door before letting it click into place.

     “She has the situation under control. Diana said she’s close to an answer. I was more interested in whatever happened between you two earlier?” She felt self conscious without her trademark hood, constantly tucking her hair behind her ear. It felt good to have Cullen on his toes. He stopped before a stuffed nug, tapping it on the nose before answering Leliana.

     “She told me about the servants’ quarters, then a woman tried talking to her. Dorian called her and she went with him,” Cullen shrugged, wincing as one of the Nug’s long whiskers broke off under his fingers. He dropped it, kicking it under a table under Leliana’s smiling eyes.

     “Did you happen to catch her name? I’ve had plenty of alliances suggested to me tonight, and I need to know if someone is trying to outmaneuver me,” Leliana spoke softly, a small scroll appearing in her hands like magic. Cullen was still convinced there was something impossible about the Nightingale.

     “Madame Valois, I believe. I think Diana knows her,” Cullen chuckled, remembering Diana’s quiet rebuttal. Leliana quirked a brow, looking through her notes before smiling in a way that made Cullen cold.

     “Valois. Hmm. What did she say?” Cullen blushed and she laughed, leaning against the taxidermied Nug. “It cannot be so bad.”

     “She asked when we were getting married,” he mumbled, grabbing the back of his neck. Leliana paused before letting her head fall back, nearly guffawing. His face burned as he scowled, waiting for her to stop. It took a full minute, tears in her eyes before she finally spoke.

     “We’re all asking that, Cullen. Meet me in the foyer the next time the bell rings. Diana said she should have an answer for us then.” She chuckled one last time, remembering Cullen’s shocked face before knocking twice on the door, sliding out through the cracked entrance.

 

 

     The wind tore at Diana’s hair, pulling it free from the rhinestone pins that had fallen during her battles throughout the night. Her left hand pulsed angrily, itching from the efforts to stop the rift that had opened in the middle of the gardens. Her dress, luckily, was barely touched, and would survive being returned to Gaspard with a thank you note. A basket of fine cheeses, maybe?

     She turned, feeling Cullen’s presence as he closed the balcony doors behind him. She allowed herself a small smile before standing up straight, tucking her hair behind her ears.

     “So.” He mimicked her smile, stopping next to her before looking over the gardens. His legs rested against the bannister, standing strong between Diana and the wind.

     “So. That was…” She moved back to the bannister, leaning against it and slightly into him. “Something I never want to do again. Maker, I know why my father hated Orlais now.” Cullen’s chuckle was warm, forcing a smile from her.

     “Let’s agree to never return,” he mumbled, bumping her shoulder with his. Diana giggled quietly. Normally, she would have already snapped at him and marched off, but his presence was a relief.

     “Can we get it in writing? Have Josephine get it notarized?” Diana asked, walking away from the balcony as someone tapped on the window. She turned just in time to see Bull pull a few peeping toms away, his bulk blocking the view. Cullen followed her, taking her hand in his, waiting for her to pull away. Instead, she turned back to him, stepping close to him as the wind whipped wickedly around them.

     “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight,” he mumbled, brushing the hair from her face. Her eyes were bright and sparkling in the moonlight, most of the makeup rinsed from her skin. Up close, she looked even more beautiful without it. Her hand felt at home in his, bolstering his confidence as he bowed. “I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask. May I have this dance, my lady?”

     Her fingers tightened around his and he pulled her close, her skirts spinning a large arch as his hand found her waist. Together, they stepped and swayed to the music floating through the open windows, occasionally giggling nervously as one stepped on the other’s toes. A lone voice sang with the strings, conducting their bodies about in sweeping moves. Minutes passed like this, Cullen butchering the Orlesian words before Diana joined him, letting him pull her around the balcony. She leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips, laughing through her singing as his face blushed bright red.

     “ _A te regarder, Danser et sourire, Et à t'écouter, Chanter et puis rire, Laisse-moi devenir…_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

     “ _Ne me quitte pas, ne me quitte pas…_ ” Tears poured from under her helmet, seeping into the robes under the hefting metal. Sobs wracked her body, making her hang limply from the chains while several Qunari stopped to listen to her nearly ethereal singing. The few Saarebas retreated as far as they could. One younger guard stopped, head tilted in curiosity. Even Alistair and Rose came down to listen to her. Rose leaned into Alistair, the sorrow moving her to tears.

     “ _Ne me quitte pas…_ Do not leave me now…” Her voice echoed an eternity longer before the Wardens heard one last sob.

 

     "Cullen."

 

 

 


	14. Andraste 7:12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fade coalesced green and black around Diana's feet, a chill settling into her joints as she took a seat on the ground. The distant feeling of rocking matched the constant taste of salt on her lips. Wherever her body was, they were close to their destination. The Fade was strangely vacant here. Only far-off echoes seemed to reach where she sat and, in the distance, the Black City hung like a reminder of shame. A tall mirror, cracked and ancient, erupted from the ground like a sapling. The ground shook for a moment and green sparks tracked up the mirror's frame, fusing the mirror whole once more.
> 
> **tw: Mentions of/Brief torture in this chapter**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! If it's any consolation, the next chapter is about halfway done already. ^_^  
> As always, comments/questions/critiques are always welcome!

         "But, Miss, your lessons-"

              "Will have to wait, Sister," Mia nearly growled, slamming the ancient wooden door behind her. Dust fell from around the doorjamb in a sheet and layered the ground where her feet were, leaving the frosted outline of her boots. Stalking out of the Chantry, Mia was in a foul mood. Two weeks had become two months of newsless waiting. Both her and her father's tempers were now legendary, leaving everyone within earshot knowing only two things could quell them: each other and-

         "Diana. Where is she?" Mia quickly pressed herself to the side of a small building, simultaneously hiding and eavesdropping. A rumble of a voice floated out of the cracked shutters, followed by a breathless gasp. A footstep, followed by a dragging step, told Mia most of the story. With care, Mia maneuvered herself to the window, peeking in.

         A man hung from the rafters, a series of ropes holding him in the air. Blood already dripped from somewhere, plinking noisily in a tin bowl beneath him. The Iron Bull was pacing slowly, no rush in his movements as he dragged a blood smeared blade over a cloth. The metal glinted in the dim light and the man shook his head, struggling. Mia dropped to her knees, her back pressing against the cold wood. Everyone was doing what they could to find her mother, Mia knew. Something else felt wrong.

         Taking a moment to gather herself, Mia stood and knocked on the door. It swung open at the touch, leaving her haloed in bright light. The man blinked, wincing as The Iron Bull stepped between them.

         "Mia, you shouldn't be here," he growled, stowing the series of knives behind him. She barely acknowledged him, walking confidently forward as the whipping wind forced the door shut once more, returning the room to darkness. Mia reached into her belt, pulling out one of the daggers Dorian had given her. It felt smaller in her hands every day, but it's strength was what she needed now. The captive's eyes grew wide while Mia paced around him, small feet taking up the same path The Iron Bull had walked. She tilted the blade purposely, letting the man look at it before wordlessly dragging it over his forearm. It bit into the soft flesh there, bringing a ribbon of blood to the surface. The blade was sharp enough to cut with little pain--The man's panic did the work for her. The Iron Bull stepped back, watching as darkness crept over Mia's face.

         "You know who I am," she whispered, flicking the blood off the blade at his face. The splatter drew a crimson line bisecting his features. The man nodded, wincing once more as his own blood blurred his vision. Mia nodded, strafing over to slice at his other arm. "You know who I am." The man wailed in pain, struggling enough to make his body swing in the air. Blood ran down both his arms in a thin velvet sheet. Mia waited a minute before doing the same to his left bicep, whispering the same phrase. It took until her dagger bit into his right bicep for him to answer.

         "You know who I-"

              "Mia Trevelyan! You're Mia Trevelyan," he shouted, shaking in his binding. This terror of a young woman frightened him more than the obviously hulking Qunari in the corner. A twisted smile crossed Mia's face.

          "Very good." She glanced at The Iron Bull, but he was studying the captive. Mia walked back to stand before the man. "Very good. You do know who I am." She glanced him over before staring into his eyes. "I don't care who you are. I care about what you know." Her blade danced as she began to toss it in the air, the handle jumping from her fingers to turn once and land back in her waiting hand. A whine escaped the man's throat, high and reedy, and Mia laughed. She heard The Iron Bull's breathing freeze at this and felt his stare slide to her. "You don't know where Diana is," Mia stated factually, letting the man comprehend this for a quiet minute.

         "N-no, I don't." The Iron Bull snorted, but Mia nodded. A small frown made her brows touch before throwing the blade full force at the man's chest. The tip of the blade cut into his flesh before a bright blue glow arrested it in the air. The same glimmer danced on Mia's fingertips as she leaned in, a feral growl in her voice.

         "Where is Corypheus?"

  
  
  
  
  


         "You almost went too far," The Iron Bull grumbled, following a breathless Mia from the shack. The blood splattered on her shoes tracked crimson in the snow for a few feet before wiping clean. Her shoulders shook and she looked to be sick, but her voice was steady.

         "I didn't, and now we know more. Isn't that what you were trying to do?" Mia asked, turning to face him. The Iron Bull waved a massive hand in the air, placing his other on her shoulder. Snow fell in a neat blanket, covering their footprints in moments.

         "Yes. You were as good as a Tamassran in there," he growled, steering Mia towards the tavern. Mia looked quizzically at him, welcoming the warmth of the tavern's fireplace as they found seats and sat. The Iron Bull shoved a giant tankard into her hands, chugging his own.

         "But we got what we needed, Bull. We know where Corypheus is moving and what he wants-" The Iron Bull slid two fingers under Mia's glass, making her drink. She nearly choked, coughing on the strong ale. A nearby group of scouts laughed.

         "What were you willing to sacrifice for that?" Mia thought and drank again, the sting of the drink making her eyes water. He leaned in, dwarfing the table beneath his chest. "I saw you in there. Andraste’s tits, you scared me. But you looked just like your mother." He chugged his own drink, scowling away the small smile Mia had. "Not in the good way."

         "Then how? From what Cullen says, my mother was the kindest woman he's ever met," she nearly bubbled in her drink. A numbness was starting to settle in her fingertips.The Iron Bull nodded.

         "Diana is. I doubt she could hurt a nug unless it went after someone. There's always two sides to people, Mia, and your mother knew that." He sighed, finally setting his tankard down once he drained it. "After she got all infected, she started being more brutal. She said if Diana was the Chantry Sister, Dianella was the Blood Mage. Some days, she was both." Mia's nod told him she'd seen this.

         "I... Corypheus and Samson made her do terrible things." Mia chugged, a thin line escaping the corner of her lips. The numbness spread pleasantly up her limbs, warming her core. The Iron Bull filled their mugs again, tapping the edge of her tankard with his.

         "Dorian told me. Means you know what happens when you do that," he nodded in the direction of the shack. A shiver ran down her spine and he nodded again. "Leave that messy business to me, okay, kid?" Mia took a hearty swig from her mug, smiling as the tingling sensation made her head spin.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


         The Fade coalesced green and black around Diana's feet, a chill settling into her joints as she took a seat on the ground. The distant feeling of rocking matched the constant taste of salt on her lips. Wherever her body was, they were close to their destination. The Fade was strangely vacant here. Only far-off echoes seemed to reach where she sat and, in the distance, the Black City hung like a reminder of shame. A tall mirror, cracked and ancient, erupted from the ground like a sapling. The ground shook for a moment and green sparks tracked up the mirror's frame, fusing the mirror whole once more.

         Diana stood, brushing dust off her knees before crossing over to the glass. Frustration colored her cheeks as her hands clenched the edges of the frame until her knuckles turned white. Her reflection was warped and flickered between her true visage and what she saw herself. Fist drawn back, she began to gather her energy, her goal set on breaking this infernal mirror. Diana could practically hear Solas’s voice chastising her, blood boiling until her reflection reached through. Demon-like fingers curled around her fist, twisting her wrist until she stepped back in pain, clutching her fist to her stomach.

         “You’re not Solas!” Diana cried, falling back on her rump. This reflection was tall, strong, emanating power in waves. The taint of red lyrium made her skin glow and the ground crack open at her feet. Her very hair was made of strands of the demonic substance, nails long and bladelike. The vision held her head high like royalty, giving Diana a sneer before she stepped through the glass. Smoke and shadow flowed in her wake, following her every step, and Diana was frightened. The vision’s eyes shone bright red as the mirror began to crackle. Lyrium grew in the cracks, making it split until it squeaked in protest.

         “Thank the _fucking_ Maker,” The vision growled and the mirror shattered into nothingness. In the distance, a wolf howled in pain.

         This strange reflection strode towards Diana, keeping the same distasteful gaze on the fallen mage before brushing her hair over her shoulder with flare. Every movement oozed with power. She gave Diana once more glance before grinning. Her teeth were fanged and sharp, lending more credence to her demonic appearance.

         “I wonder,” the vision drawled, a chorus of many voices, “If you remember me. It has been quite some time, little Diana.” In return, Diana spat at the vision. A globule landed on the apparition's face. It sizzled into nothingness and the vision laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

         “I locked you in there. How could I forget, _Demon_?” Diana hissed, curling like a threatened snake on the ground. The Demon laughed once more.

         “ _‘Spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving till nothing was left but the spite itself, coiled 'round my heart like a great worm’_. After thirty years, I have to ask. I guess it was the only way to make it through your Harrowing, but you could have warned me.” The Demon growled, waving her hand in the air. An almond shaped opening wiped clean before her, giving them a view of the inside of the helmet Diana wore. “Yes, it’s the venom and the lyrium doing this. Your mind has always been so fragile. Where are we?”

         “ _I_ am far out of your reach, demon.” Diana’s voice was weak as her mind realed at the complications. The Demon gave a large sigh, one clawed hand resting on her hip. A seat formed beneath her as she sat, ankles crossed and hands silent.

         “But not out of _his_.” Dianella let the statement hang in the air before continuing. “You’re weak.”

         Diana stood, anger growing in her stomach. The ground where her feet stood glowed blue, flaring the same as the tattoos on her face. Veilfire-like flames erupted from her fingertips in the same azure color. Lightning arched through the air, hitting the ground at The Demon’s feet in a shower of cascading sparks, and the wind whipped about until it rushed in their ears.

         “I. Am. Not. Weak.” Each word was accented with a step until Diana’s hands were wrapped around The Demon’s throat. The Demon simply smiled before whispering.

         “Cullen.”

         In a moment, the energy was gone and Diana collapsed onto her knees. Her limbs shook like boughs in the breeze, stomach turning foully. Dianella watched from her throne, one lyrium-tipped finger set on her lower lip. The winds of the Fade howled around them, carrying Diana’s shivering sobs until every sleeping soul around her could hear them.

         “It’s been over ten years and you’ve only said his name once of your own free will,” The Demon said, a wicked smile curling farther than what should have been possible. Behind her, the window played flashes of visions. _Bound, torn, Samson shearing her hair, armored fingers tangled around her neck, say his name, mage_.

         “I-I can’t- I-” Diana stuttered. A dense hollow sound echoed as The Demon knocked on Diana’s skull, the metal clanking around her head.

         “Sacrifices must be made, Diana. In the end, you will have to lose yourself. You already know this.” The Demon cupped Diana’s face in her hands, for a moment looking almost endearingly at her creator. “Everyone will ask it of us, they always have. I’ve done all I can from here. All that you’ll let me, anyway.”

         “No happy endings,” Diana mumbled, eyes distant as tears welled on her lids. Already the Blight was seizing her again, turning her tears into crystallized diamonds. The Demon nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to Diana’s head before rolling her eyes.

         “Well, now that this lovely internal dialogue is done, it’s time to work. You know where to find me.”

         Diana lurched forward, caught only by the multitudes of chains wrapped around her body. Her eyes flashed open to a screen of red crystallized over her face. Voices chimed around her and feet rushed around loudly on the wooden decks. Somewhere in the multitude of voices, she could hear Alistair speaking reassuredly.

         “Diana, Di, we’re here. Diana? We’re safe.”

         Sunlight pierced through the film of her helmet, and Diana cried.

 


	15. To The Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Storm Coast was ever changing, and yet, the sight of the craggy rocks and stormy skies was all too familiar. Distantly, a ship waited, a dark shadow in the fog, and it made them shiver. The Iron Bull huffed, lifting a banner and waving it high in the air. The crimson streak was bright against the green and gray landscape, and he was sure it was seen.

     The Storm Coast was ever changing, and yet, the sight of the craggy rocks and stormy skies was all too familiar. Distantly, a ship waited, a dark shadow in the fog, and it made them shiver. The Iron Bull huffed, lifting a banner and waving it high in the air. The crimson streak was bright against the green and gray landscape, and he was sure it was seen.

    "Is it them? Because, as I've said before, I really quite detest this place," Dorian grumbled from his hiding place, behind an overturned column riddled with dwemer runes. Cullen was pressed alongside him, shoulder to shoulder with the mage. On his other side, Sera snored loudly, her mess of hair tickling his nose. Cullen nudged her side, earning a sleepy response of "Wanker".

   "Its definitely a dreadnought. Looks like they've already dropped them off," The Iron Bull squinted his good eye, reading every movement like a book. The giant ship was turned away from the coast, moving back into deeper waters. A freshly overturned longboat rested like driftwood on the shoreline. “They’ve moved inland. Ten, fifteen minutes.”

  
  


     “I’m going to take it off now, okay?” Alistair’s voice trembled, the whole trip having left them shaken. Diana hadn’t spoken a word after that first night nor made any attempts to communicate. She seemed blank when they undid the chains, had climbed into the boat and sat quietly during the short travel to the shore. Rose had insisted they move into the cover of the trees and was now perched high above, nestled into the boughs that creaked and threatened to break. Diana’s hands shook as they came up, resting on either side of her head. The giant helmet she wore accented her negative shake. “You want to keep it on?” Diana shook her head no again, her fingers drawing waves on the back of his hands. Her nails were the same tainted color of the red lyrium, and her skin seemed to be woven of the damned stuff. Pieces of bark landed on Alistair’s head as Rose slid down the trunk.

     “She wants to bathe,” Rose signed, taking Diana’s hand. The two women tapped their fingertips along each other’s palms, speaking silently. Slowly, Diana rose to her feet while Rose began to tug her inland.

     “Just, be careful!” Alistair shouted after them. Sitting, he stretched out along a fallen log, letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the still ground. “Just don’t make me get back on that ship. I don’t want to see another Qunari for at least a year.”

     The Iron Bull chuckled when Alistair peeked his eyes open to see what had just cast a shadow over him.

     “Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, your highness.”

  
  


     Diana stepped into the water, just one toe before slowly wading her way in. Rose had found a small pond, surrounded by trees and brush. The warden led Diana to the water’s edge before retreating into the trees once more to keep watch. Diana stood still, enjoying the coolness on her feet before reaching a tremulous hand to the buckles on the outfit. It took only a moment before the heavy metal chestpiece crashed into the shallow water. Her shift was nearly destroyed, ripped into shreds between the armor and her flesh, and hung in tatters from her shoulders. The weighty pauldrons came next, unbuckling from around her neck. Diana tugged, pulling them from her left, then right shoulder, letting it join the chestpiece. Her hands coasted over the bloody sores, checking the wounds for the deeper pain of infection before moving on. Finally, closing her eyes, she raised her hands to the latches on the helmet. It came off easily, making the lyrium that had grown during her captivity pour out and fall into the water. Strands of red and white were plastered to her sweaty skin, itching against it.

     Slowly, Diana’s eyes opened. Her reflection was strange on the water, making her look like a vaguely familiar stranger. Chunks of broken red lyrium floated for a moment on the surface, bobbing about before sinking like stones to the pond’s bottom. The water beckoned to her, washing up her ankles until she waded farther in. Her blouse billowed in the water like sea foam, clinging to her declining frame before she dove into the pond. The water pressed on all sides, cradling her in a cold embrace before she came up for air. Her lungs burned when she burst through the surface, the moist ocean air ripping through her like an electric current. Every sensation was a shock after her isolation in the armor, and she knew now why solitary confinement had been more than idle threats. Every touch threatened to overwhelm her delicate senses. The water, the gentle current, the air against her skin, the sound of Alistair far away, the feeling of eyes on her… Diana turned, a snarl in her throat and magic dancing on her fingers. She would destroy whoever disturbed her lone moment of peacefulness.

     Cullen stood at the edge of the pond, his sword clattering to the rocky ground with a dull thunk. A small choking sound echoed from him, and he fell to his knees. The spell died in the air, dispelling into faint fizzles before Diana let herself sink into the water, retreating. Her eyes were closed, head shaking as if to erase his presence.

     “No, no, you can’t be…” Her mutterings were by no means quiet, but the cracking on her first syllables spoke even more. Diana’s hands came up to claw at her hair, pulling at the mixed locks. A clanking of falling metal preluded the splash of boots in the water, and Diana froze, the repeated mantra dying. Cullen waded through the water, his own armor hastily shrugged off until he was close enough to hear her muttering. Diana peeked out from behind her hands, her heart thumping once at the sight before she squeezed her eyes shut again. “No, no, no…”

     “Diana?” Ice ran through her veins, making her tremble. His voice had the same warmth, the same feeling of home that had eluded her since that day. Her mind was at war, one side wanting to attack, the other to throw herself into his arms. “Diana, I…” Cullen waded further in until he was a mere step away. Her name broke through his lips like a waterfall, bubbling and churning in her ears until she threw a hand out, palm forward and fingers splayed. Heat radiated from Cullen’s chest, the heat curling around her soaked skin and into her sore joints. Cullen remained silent as Diana let her hand fall to the water and inch backward. The tiniest sigh made his shoulders drop as he spoke once more. “Diana, it’s-”

     “No.” A cold steeliness had settled on Diana, the distance in her eyes more painful than her absence. An ache hunted every touch of comfort in both of them as Cullen reached for her face, only to have her turn her cheek away. Tears poured down her face and she gulped a breath of fresh air before burying any softness deep in her heart. “Take me to the Inquisition. Let’s get this done with.”

     Cullen frowned, stepping forward into her space. Her eyes wandered down to his hand, the well-worn band nested on his finger, and her resolve nearly broke. His mouth opened to speak.

     “Diana, I mi-”

          “Whoa, you look like shite,” Sera quipped, leaning against a trunk near the entrance to the small clearing. Her bow was trained on Diana’s chest casually, the tip of the arrow steadily aimed. A pile of fresh clothes lay on a nearby rock. “Dorian says we need to move.”

  
  
  


     Night fell quickly on the group, forcing them to camp far away from any towns. Diana had only spared a nod to The Iron Bull and the tiniest of smiles for Dorian, remaining quiet and emotionless during the rest of the trek.

     “She looks worse,” Dorian fretted, leaning close to The Iron Bull near the fire. Sera snorted, cleaning her plate in a few moments before attempting to steal some food from everyone else. Cullen’s plate was untouched, his eyes constantly watching Diana near the edge of camp. Her winces of pain had grown louder, making her insist on being kept far away from the rest of the tents. The Wardens, after a warm greeting, had taken off, scouting ahead. Cullen grumbled as a rolled up ball of something bounced off his cheek. Dorian scowled at Sera, who promptly pulled Cullen’s plate from his lap, before addressing Cullen. “You should talk to her.”

     “She didn’t seem to want to talk,” he mumbled. His fingers were dancing patterns on the band, making it twist and spin. Dorian was undeterred.

     “Since she _gave herself up to Corypheus_ , she has been torn to pieces, knitted back together, tortured, used, forced to kill those who trusted her. She has been a weapon and an amusement piece for a decade. Have I forgotten anything?” Dorian looked nearly dangerous as he stalked across the camp to meet Cullen face to face. “Oh yes, and she’s done anything in her power to protect your daughter while trying to raise her.” The silence was accented by the crackling of the fire, a shared mumbled “ _Fuck_ ” whispered by The Iron Bull and Sera both. Dorian remained near Cullen, giving him a sharp glare before whispering, “I don’t think she’s used to kind words. Remind her.”

     Cullen glanced over to Diana’s makeshift tent, her curled figure silhouetted against the tented sheet. She rocked back and forth slowly in time with her humming. He gave the party a glance, meeting their expectant stares before sighing and rising to his feet. Cullen took time approaching Diana, not unlike a startled horse, making sure to hum and drag his feet so she could hear him coming. She quieted, her whimpers petering off into deep breaths drawn through her flared nostrils. His hand pulled the sheet back a little, waiting for her to respond.

     “Um, Diana?” Cullen nearly fell back at her demonic red gaze. Only the welling of tears in her eyes kept him standing. Her fingernails had already drawn long lines of blood from her arms. Her whole left hand seemed to be consumed by a web of Fade green, following the lines of lyrium erupting under her skin. The demon that had tricked him before had not been far off.

     “What.” Every emotion was layered in the single word. Pain, fear, anger, lust, passion. She was tightly restrained by the same thing that forced her to extremes. Cullen slowly lowered himself to his knees, crawling forward in increments. His mind raced for a single question to ask, the list of them running until his lips chose something else. He waited until she was within reach before whispering.

     “What did he do to you?” Diana froze mid-rocking. She had fully expected him to lash out, to call her Betrayer, to make her answer for her crimes. Blame, she could take.

     “Who, he? There’s a lot,” she snapped, hiding her face in her arm as another wave of pain rushed through her. Her nails dug into the dirt and she hissed loudly, biting back a cry. Cullen’s hand shot out to grab hers, halting an inch before like she was fire.

     “Corypheus, Samson, all of them. What did he- Maker, what did they do to you, Diana?” His own fingers itched to pull her close and never let her go as she lashed out at the sheet. Her nails cut through the fabric easily while her glare seemed to set aflame.

     “Everything you know and more. Why.” Cullen swallowed, setting his anger aside as he forced himself to inch closer to Diana.

     “Because you’re my wi-” She snarled, the pain making her back arch until she seemed ready to snap in two. Cullen’s hands moved instinctively to her sides, grabbing her hips and lifting before her head fell back against the ground. One hand slid around to her back, feeling the myriad of scars beneath her shirt, while the other found its way to the back of her head. His thick fingers tangled in her hair, cupping her head like a delicate flower in bloom. Diana held her eyes shut, the lids quivering like her lips while her body slowly began to curl around Cullen’s torso. He watched her, holding her close until she began to speak quietly. Her words were inaudible at first, slowly gaining volume until Cullen heard snippets of the Chant between her whimpers.

     “ _‘Blessed are the Champions of the Just…’_ Oh, Maker, I’m sorry.” Cullen’s arms wrapped tightly around her, rocking her through the pain. From the camp, Dorian and The Iron Bull smiled in each other’s arms. Sera kept watch from the trees, watching the small campfires lit across the valley.

     On the distant mountaintop, a larger fire burst into life, destroying the small windmill as Sera watched. Screams echoed through the nestled forest and Sera dropped from the branches, shouting, “Shite! Shite! Shite, shite, shite!” The nearly dozing pairs jumped to their feet, The Iron Bull always at the ready with warhammer lifted. They were a myriad of voices, all asking the same question until Rose and Alistair broke through the trees, weapons ready. The only voice was a gravely word from a throat that had barely spoken, making the party turn to Rose. Lips pulled back in a snarl, her teeth were bared like the mabari next to her.

     “Corypheus.”

 


	16. The Dawn Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t know if you’ll get us even close to-”  
>  “Just fucking trust me!” Diana shouted, the Anchor aching as the shadow cut its way through the flames. It gave a roar, blood red eyes glowing while Diana’s left hand cut through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @_@

         The Wardens led the charge through the night, guiding the exhausted party through the battered forest. Animals screamed as fire and spells overtook them, turning the once peaceful mountainside into a warzone in their wake. Cullen kept a firm hand on Diana’s wrist as they ran, pulling her along. Dorian yelled as a giant tree, glowing bright red as embers climbed along its arms, came down, nearly crushing the party in an instant. Instead, Diana’s anchor flared for a moment, following the angle of her out-thrown hand. A rift tore through the air, a giant bright green maw gaping open for the moment needed to swallow the tree whole before closing with a pop. The air stunk of burnt ozone and they ran on.

         Dorian was slightly ahead of them, breathing heavily as he guided Sera and The Iron Bull through the maze of flame and ruin. He glanced back, his hair plastered to his forehead, shouting something and Diana nodded. Her grip tightened on Cullen’s hand and, for a second, he could imagine her mischevious smile making her cheeks quirk upward. Her next step forward seemed to fold the world in half, crossing the distance in one stride with Cullen in tow. Behind them, the forest fell to embers and ash.

         “What in Andraste’s knickers was that?!” Sera shouted, pulling a hunk of burnt ash from her ear with the tip of her pinky before flicking it away. Soot smeared their faces in long slashes like war paint while they coughed the smoke from their lungs. Further on, the lights of the Crossroads were all shining beacons on the normally dark night, twinkling like stars. Figures could be seen with buckets, already soaking the roofs of their buildings. Diana’s eyes were wide and her attempt to hide behind Cullen wasn’t unnoticed.

         “That would be that thrice-damned darkspawn dragon of his," Alistair growled, cradling his arm as Rose watched, her eyes scanning the horizons. Baxter stood resolute, following his mistress’s example. “If we don’t move, they’ll kill us.” There was a moment before they murmured in agreement, but it was Diana that coughed loudly, cheeks flushed under their gazes.

         “I-I know you don’t trust me, but I need you all to. Please,” She hissed, pain shooting through her body as she glanced behind them nervously. Baxter growled, ears pinning back with against the slowly growing wind, eyes focused on the dark shadow that the fire seemed unable to touch. Her joints trembled and, softy, Corypheus’s deep voice caressed her mind like dark velvet, whispering comfort and safety. All it took was a confident nod from Cullen before she grabbed his wrist once again. Dorian blanched, his hands already grabbing Sera’s and The Iron Bull’s. Rose’s fingers were wrapped tightly in Baxter’s collar, the other in Alistair’s death grip as Dorian began to protest.

         “You don’t know if you’ll get us even close to-”

                  “Just _fucking_ trust me!” Diana shouted, the Anchor aching as the shadow cut its way through the flames. It gave a roar, blood red eyes glowing while Diana’s left hand cut through the air. The Anchor seemed to burst in a torrent of dripping green flames and Diana rented the space with a rift, pulling them all through in time for it to shut before Corypheus could touch it. The growling scream followed them through to the Fade.

         Diana ran headlong, her shoulder bouncing painfully off an jutting tower of stone, leading the string of people in a confident manner. Around them, shattered mirrors covered the landscape, reflections of themselves skewed and deformed in the broken glass. Only Sera didn't see, with eyes clenched shut like her jaw, the frighteningly darker versions of Diana haunting the glass in every shard.

         "How can you know where we're going?" Dorian shouted over the wind. Tiny motes glowed around them, sending a chittering of noises into every corner. Cullen squeezed Diana's wrist, trying to get her to turn back and look. Instead, her gaze was set magnetically towards a mountaintop. Every step drew them closer by leaps and bounds, and as they grew closer, a bright light began to emanate from the tip of the peak. Echoes of screams and clashing weapons filled their ears, ghosts of battles battering them about. Shadows moved in close like a pack of wolves, funneling towards the light.

         "Don't let go! We're almost there!" Diana shouted over the clanging and cries. Above, the sky ripped open in blue and white, the snow covered top of Haven's Chantry rising like a pointed finger to the heavens. The Anchor gripped Diana's hand and her scream seemed to rip the air open before them, a shimmering haze of ice and snow pouring out in a wave. She stumbled, panting as the Anchor stabbed into her palm and mind, making each step drag with an invisible weight. A soft voice seemed to float on the blizzard, and Diana cried, pushing all thought away to claw towards the opening. She and Cullen pulled, their feet muddled in the suddenly dark,  mire-like floor. Their hands stretched together, reaching for the window as the voice grew into a chorus.

  
  
  
  


         Mia awoke with a start, a soft yelp that caught Josephine's attention. She nearly fell off the giant chair that sat opposite Josephine's desk, the blanket sliding to the floor in a soft heap. Leliana looked up from a map, head tilted slightly as Mia seemed to catch her breath.

         "Is everything alright?" Josephine asked quietly, setting her quill aside. Mia gasped once more, closing her eyes and thinking.

        "I... I saw my mother... And Cullen. In my dream?" Mia's frustration was evident, her fists balled up and pressed to her eyes. Leliana rushed across the room, the map falling forgotten to the desk before Josephine could even rise.

         "Where, Mia? Are they in the Fade?" Leliana was quick to ask, a soothing palm brushing the mane of hair out of Mia's face. Josephine was a fluster of movement, rushing to the door and asking the nearest person to call for any mage before running into the hall. The pitter of her slippers faded off in moments, followed by the creak of the giant doors. Mia nodded, rising slowly.

         "Yes. Mama looks worse..." Mia trailed off sleepily, worry making her shoulders drop before her eyes widened. "They’re lost. They need our help!" With that, Mia ran to the door, grabbing the thick woolen coat Cullen had given her before leaving. Leliana raced after her, following Mia outside to the commons where a crowd had already gathered. Josephine ran towards them, leading a group of tired looking mages.

         "Mia, tell them what you saw," Josephine asked, bundling herself in a blanket as Leliana met with them. The night was colder than usual, a wicked wind carrying the scent of burnt wood. Mia shook her head, marching to the main gates.

        "There's no time! Something’s chasing them!" She shouted, running out into the snow and wind, a bright golden spark in the night. The mages raced to meet her, one handing her a staff before following the young woman towards the frozen lake.

         The wind took on a brutal war against the citizens that followed Mia across the lake, pushing and pulling them across the barren expanse. Only those with staffs or weapons found any purchase, stabbing into the thick sheet of ice beneath them. Josephine and Leliana followed Mia's steps, a winding path that seemed dictated by her outstretched hands. Bare to the cruel winter, Mia's fingers grew numb quickly, but it was the tingle in the air, the feeling of electricity under her skin that drew her on. In the middle of the lake, Mia stopped, feeling a seam in the air. Like a poorly stitched wound, something etheric leaked into the air, making the fine hairs rise on Mia's arms. The first mages to reach her felt it immediately.

         "We can't open it," a taller man roared, his voice stripped away in the unforgiving wind. Mia frowned, looking about in desperation. A bright green emblem of a flaming hand on some robes pulled her attention to a slightly absent minded woman.

         "What about you?" She yelled, pointing to the woman. She pointed to herself, looking about before raising her hands to the wound. The tear wavered, letting the sickly green glow of the Fade leak out onto the frozen ground, and the mage shouted in an effort to hold it open. Every mage in reach moved quickly, splitting off into teams. Those few with experience with rift magic stood in a row until they had created a solid wall of hands. Others took hold of their companions, creating a rope of channeled energy along their arms. The small tear gaped open to the size of a small door, tendrils of multicolored magic running along the archway to hold it.

         Mia stood awestruck near the archway, listening to the throng groaning under the effort of holding the luminescent door open. The shadows of the Fade looked familiar like a distant dream, swirling obsidian and jade. Her fingertips tingled and itched to reach through, and only Leliana's firm hand on her shoulder held her back.

         "We've done what we can," she breathed, her fingers tight on Mia. Fear glowed in her eyes at the sight of the Fade open before them. A nod sent two soldiers to either side, swords and shields ready.

        "What if they can't find it?" The question was quiet, a soft confession in the would-be Most Holy's ear. Leliana looked over to Mia, lips parted in a lost answer. Josephine answered, teeth chattering together in the cold.

         "All we can do is pray."

         The crowd gasped as the first mage collapsed, a gurgle of foam in her mouth. A few rushed forward to wrap the woman in blankets even as her partners rushed to support the others. The corners of Mia's eyes grew tight, and Leliana expected the young woman to cry. Instead, her hands grew into fists, one powerful stride pulling Mia out of her grasp. She approached the archway, determination powering each of her movements. Taking a deep breath, she forced the bundle of magic growing in her to seep into the air around them. Sky blue fingers joined the multitude, wrapping like vines until they bound and strengthened into one cohesive arch. Mia's lips parted and the world seemed to stop to listen.

         

         _Shadows fall_

_And hope has fled_

_Steel your heart_

_The dawn will come_

__  
  


         The shadows clawing at them paused, sightless eyes turning to the tear with a hiss. Diana and Cullen looked to each other, bodies half-consumed in darkness. A golden glow from the tear cut through the shadows, an unnatural warmth washing over them. The voice was a bright beacon, pulling them forward. Beside them, the others surged forward.

  
  
  


         _The shepard's lost_

_And his home is far_

_Keep to the stars_

_The dawn will come_

__  
  


         Dorian was the first through, followed closely by the haggard looking Wardens. The Iron Bull charged through, carrying an exhausted Sera in his arms. Leliana made a sound at the sight of her old friends, but Rose rushed back to the maw, a hand out. Alistair grabbed the back of her belt, securing them in this world even as his wife reached beyond. In the swirling shadows, hands reached back.

  
  


         _Bare your blade_

_And raise it high_

_Stand your ground_

_The dawn will come_

__  
  


        Diana pulled herself to Cullen, his free arm wrapping around her waist tightly. Their gazes locked, the darkness pushing in around them. Cullen leaned in, his lips brushing her ear in a whisper before Diana caught him in a searing kiss, a secret taking form on her lips while they burned like hot coals against his skin.  A hand took hold of Cullen and pulled.

  
  


         _The night is long_

_And the path is dark_

_Look to the sky_

_For one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

        Mia gasped, stepping back as Diana and Cullen tumbled out onto the icy tundra in a protective embrace. Blankets were rushed forward and Cullen pulled one over the shivering Diana, concealing her face from the others. It was useless. On shaky legs, Diana rose and lifted her left hand, the glow of the Fade making a stark contrast to the glowing red scars along her arms. It was engulfed in bright green flames and, with a snap of her fingers, they burned through the air, searing the edges of the tear. Ozone burned putridly as it quickly cauterized into a clean scar. Around them, mages collapsed in exhaustion.

         Slowly, Diana turned, flinching at the resulting gasps and few screams of terror. Cullen stepped in protectively, pulling the blanket back over Diana's shoulders. A shadow of a smile crossed their faces at the sight of Mia.

         "Mia!" Diana cried, reaching forward. In a moment, shackles clamped tightly over her wrists and the cry turned feral, snarling at the soldiers flanking her.

        "There's no need!" Cullen shouted, pulling at one soldier's arm. Leliana stepped forward.

        "You understand, Cullen. She’s potentially dangerous." A dark snarl curled Diana’s lip before Mia stepped forward.

         “ENOUGH.” Her voice carried powerfully across the lake, making them all stop in their shouting. In a move reminiscent of royalty, Mia pointed to Diana and flicked her finger away. The soldier standing there paused only a moment before taking the shackles off, retreating quickly into the crowd. Leliana’s ire was cut short only by Mia’s intervention.

         “She is still a threat-”

                  “Less of a threat than whatever was following them.” Mia stood firmly, her eyes boring into Leliana’s until Cullen spoke.

         “Indeed. We have Diana, a cure, and the force of Corypheus after us.” Diana nodded, beginning to fold in on herself as the cold took hold of her body. Cullen swept his arm under her, lifting his wife bridal style in a heap of wool.

         “What are we, chopped liver?” Alistair coughed, wrapping his arms around Rose as a small smile grew on her face. Josephine stood only a moment longer before issuing a tizzy of commands to the fleet of waiting patrons.

         “Get the fires going, and see if we can’t get a meal together! Hurry!” The crowd moved to rush back towards the warming fires of Haven. The last thing Diana saw before her eyes slid shut was the curl of Cullen’s lips as Mia came to them, bubbling in excitement.

         “See, Mama, I said I’d never forget the words.” Cullen hugged them close, taking only a moment before carrying Diana towards Haven.

         They were a family again.

 

 

 


	17. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smell was not unlike sweetened tea, an anathema of the swill Alistair had described from his Joining. The liquid was cloudy white, the same filmy color that seemed to coat the Warden's' eyes. Alistair took a large gulp, passing the goblet along to his wife with shaking fingers. Rose took it in both hands, staring into the liquid before finally taking a drink. A large drop fell from the corner of her mouth, dragging down to her chin. Diana watched as it pooled and fell to the stone. The cool metal pressed into Diana's right hand.
> 
> **Warnings inside**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, warnings include:  
> -Illness/Sickness  
> -Vomiting  
> -Sideways Frickle Frackle aka NSFW

The smell of smoking fires and cooking meat filled the tiny house Diana woke up in. Bundled in endless blankets, she felt content to lay there, pretending to be asleep. Too much had happened, these private moments too few to count. To pretend she had only just received the Anchor, to still be blissfully unaware of Corypheus, was too sweet a memory to leave behind. It wasn't until Rose pulled back the covers a little to find Diana's face that she finally forced herself into the real world. Alistair stood near the doorway, slightly shaken and somehow years older than she had last seen him, listening to the sounding bells from the Chantry. Stares were exchanged as the giant doors creaked open wide and the multitudes began to pour in.

    The Wardens stood, their eyes never leaving each other as they donned their most formal armor. Silvers and blue swam in Diana's vision, and it wasn't until Rose came back to her bedside with something draped over her arm that she sat up.

    "You can't wear blankets in there," Rose giggled while her fingers danced in the air, laughing in the rare gravely voice when Diana swaddled herself tighter in the wool and furs. Alistair coughed, turning resolutely to look out the window while his wife dressed the Herald. A simple blue dress, thicker than her usual garb, was quickly exchanged for the travel wear Sera had given her before. It threw the long red scars into stark contrast, making Diana shiver at the sight. The bells tolled louder.

  
  


    The crowd grew silent as the Wardens entered, flanking Diana like bodyguards through the throng. A long carpet had been rolled out, muffling the crunch of boots into a more musical chiming of metal on metal. At the head of the room stood the advisors, with Leliana in the center. A legion of scribes worked in a corner, the air filled with scratching quill tips.

    "Now introducing Their Royal Majesties, King Alistair Therein and Queen Rose Therein," one small boy shouted, a scroll far too large held out in front of him. Chuckles ran through the crowd when, in passing, Alistair ruffled the boy's hair. Faint music floated in the air, beckoning them closer to the altar.

    Diana kept her eyes downcast, hands tight on her skirt, her hair creating a blissful veil between herself and the crowd. If they had been watching her face, the berth would have been wider. Her lips were pulled back into a painful smile, teeth gritting hard enough to squeak under the pressure. Tears of pain dripped down her face and she thought the last few feet would become impossible. She began to stumble, only to find Cole at her elbow, gathering her up and walking her forward.

    "The pain is almost over. No more veins on fire," he mumbled calmly, giving the same goofy smile she adored before she felt Cole pass her hand to a familiar set of calluses. Warmth blossomed through her fingertips, making her look up into golden eyes.

    Someone was speaking, Diana knew, but the blood rushing in her ears made her heartbeat the only sound. Cullen's quirked smile had her full attention, the scar dragging her in. She doubted he would ever turn grey, but the wrinkles around his eyes told a story of worry. A long scar disappeared under the hem of his shirt, making her own lips turn down. Cullen's fingers squeezed gently around her own, returning her gaze to him. Beside her, the Wardens gave a speech about sacrifice before producing a silvered goblet.

    The smell was not unlike sweetened tea, an anathema of the swill Alistair had described from his Joining. The liquid was cloudy white, the same filmy color that seemed to coat the Warden's' eyes. Alistair took a large gulp, passing the goblet along to his wife with shaking fingers. Rose took it in both hands, staring into the liquid before finally taking a drink. A large drop fell from the corner of her mouth, dragging down to her chin. Diana watched as it pooled and fell to the stone. The cool metal pressed into Diana's right hand.

"Tastes burnt?" Alistair whispered, giving Leliana a sideways glance. She pressed a finger to her lips, smiling a tad before nodding to Diana.

    "Your turn, Herald." She raised the goblet to her lips, letting the metal press against her mouth for a moment before drinking. It was warm, almost spiced, and she could taste ash in her mouth before swallowing. Beside her, Rose began to shake, grabbing at a bucket that Cole produced from behind him. Alistair held out only a minute longer, an unsteady smile becoming panicked as his body began to purge the taint from him. He reached out, grabbing Rose's hand for support as he retched into a second magically appearing bucket. Diana watched wide eyed as the buckets filled with a dark pitch like substance, pouring from their mouth and eyes. She had only a moment longer before the infection snarled like a caged lion within her. Cullen looked to her, the red draining from her eyes before her head fell back. The same inky black tar poured from her mouth, her stomach undulating in an effort to force it all out. Cullen's hands wrapped around her, almost pulling away as heat flared from her skin, a fever that made the tar sweat from her pores.

    Diana could see nothing, only darkness. In her mind, a schism was forming while the taint was wrenched from her. A snarling beast of thought and power struggled to free itself from the gentle golden glow that simply peeled the long claws away from Diana. Her skin burned painfully, and she was certain flames licked the length of her body. The golden glow turned its gaze to her and the flames abated, replaced by a gentle ache in her limbs. Every joint twisted and cracked, realigning itself while the wave of shining warmth rushed in her veins. The feeling wrestled with the small pocket of venom still hiding in her, shrinking it into sparkling nothingness. Her throat ached to scream while her body mended, yet the glow held her in a motherly embrace, rocking her gently and humming in a twinkling voice.

     _Come to me, child,_

_And I shall embrace you._

     Cullen crouched to the ground, cradling Diana's limp body in his arms, a fountain of promises and pleading pouring out into her hair. Beside them, the Wardens lay unconscious, hands still tightly wrapped together. Baxter stood over them, growling protectively at anyone who approached. The changes were visible.

    Any scar, any wound was healed into fresh smooth flesh. All the nicks on Alistair's face, the long ugly scar that stretched the width of Rose's throat, even the thick deep wound that Diana had sported since before the Inquisition down her face, all healed perfectly. The lyrium grew from blood red to pulsing purple then to bright blue before retreating into her skin, letting the long angry gashes to seal up and smooth over. On all three, a golden hue lay over them like sunshine, warm and safe. The room was quiet with held breaths.

     A moment more, then Alistair gasped loudly, sitting upright in a fast movement. His gaze was distant, but the milky film over his eyes was gone. He rolled over, sliding an arm under Rose to support her. His face was serene, waiting for his wife to return to herself. She spent another minute before the rushing of air in her lungs made Alistair smile widely. Baxter woofed happily, giving both of them a wet lick, earning yet another chuckle from the crowd.

Cullen continued to whisper, watching the golden glow surround the Anchor like an invading force, tendrils of gold spiking out in an effort to remove the foreign wound. Green flames shot back in response, a small battle playing out on Diana’s palm before an impasse was settled. The Anchor, it seemed, would remain.

“What’s wrong?” Mia whispered, appearing at Cullen’s side. Diana’s hair was quickly returning to its lush auburn, all curls and waves. Mia reached out, gently brushing the growing locks back from Diana’s face. Beneath closed lids, Diana’s eyes moved back and forth and her lips moved in the tiniest of degrees. Small sparkles of magic danced on Mia’s fingertips while she felt along her mother’s arm. They bounced off the freshly healed skin, an aura of Diana’s own magic answering her in a healthy glow. Eternity seemed to pass before Diana’s eyes flickered open, staring at the Chantry ceiling.

“No more whispers, no more fire, only my mind now,” Cole whispered, making Diana look over towards his voice. Cullen’s hands shook while she looked about, her eyes drinking in the sights before finally finding him. A broad smile made her eyes crinkle, and Mia grinned.

“Hello,” Diana said quietly, her voice taking on the same ringing quality that had first captured Cullen’s attention. She was quickly engulfed in blonde manes as Cullen and Mia hugged her tightly. The hall rang with applause, the bells tolling their small victory into the valley and beyond.

  
  
  


“This belongs to you,” Cole smiled, appearing next to Diana. The night’s revelries had gone on for hours, finally making Diana send Mia to bed. Every minute with her daughter was infinitely sweeter than she remembered, discovering Mia’s magic while Mia discovered her mother’s face. They had taken time to sit together and talk, all while Dorian stayed decisively out of Diana’s intense glare. Diana now was coming back from Josephine’s quarters where she had tucked Mia into bed. Something felt safe about letting Mia stay with Josie and Leliana. Between them, Dorian and The Iron Bull, and the various other couples, Diana knew Mia was in the safest hands. Maybe not Sera and Harding, what with their penchant for troublemaking, but she could worry about that later.

Cole poked Diana’s shoulder gently, something Diana had done numerous times when the young spirit had first come to Haven, and she laughed, slowing down so she could look over to him. A long silver chain lay tangled in his tapered fingers, a ring caught in its brambles. Diana stopped, taking the necklace from Cole and inspecting the band. An even edging of lines, a half smoothed face, the small divot…

“Cole, where did you find this?” Diana choked, sliding the chain over her head. The ring lay in the center of her chest, directly over her heart. She knew on sight alone that it would fit as perfectly as the day Cullen gave it to her.

“Hidden, can’t let the other’s know yet, Andraste protect us all,” Cole spoke in a sing-song voice. “You told me to hide it where you could find it. She has the same size hands as you.” He pointed to the statue of Andraste in the courtyard. Diana approached it slowly, recognizing it as the same statue that had sat in Skyhold, a pale band of untouched stone creating the illusion of a necklace around Andraste’s neck.

“Thank you, Cole,” she smiled, staring intently at the band. He grinned, the brim of his hat rising enough for Diana to see the curl of his lips.

“You’re better like this. The Lion and the Rose are untangled, tangled in limbs...” His voice faded off and Diana knew he had disappeared, off to help someone else. A gentle snowfall began and she began to make her way to the small house near the front of the camp. The door, however, was firmly shut. Even the shutters were locked. It wasn’t until a rather irate sounding Alistair shouted something about having claimed the cabin as sovereign territory that Diana retreated, blushing as a chorus of giggles and moans followed. A familiar chuckle behind her made Diana turn around.

Cullen stood in the moonlight, a light dusting of snow making him twinkle and shine. His returned confidence made his shoulders strong and his back straight, no longer defeated. It was strange to see him without the signature armor, but there was something to the more relaxed wear that made Diana dream of a small farm with swords forgotten. Without speaking, Cullen reached out, offering his bare hand. Like the move of a well practiced dance, Diana placed her hand in his, the tips of her fingers dragging over his palm before his hand could wrap around and claim them. They walked out the gates, only the sound of crunching snow beneath their feet echoing around them. Their shoulders bumped together as they walked, making them laugh and giggle. It wasn’t until Cullen led her towards the mostly forgotten house just off the lake that Diana could see the amount of planning that had gone into today’s events.

Josephine had surely thought ahead, having the house fitted to look brand new. The glow of candles and a fireplace threw long shadows over the snow through the windows. Cullen swept his arm under Diana’s legs, lifting her into the circle of his arms easily before walking through the doorway.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Cullen chuckled, the familiar rumble of his chest banishing the last of her homesickness. The inside of the house was quaint, decorated with a distinct Ferelden air. The large bed that dominated one side of the house was layered with furs and plaid woolen blankets. The other side was piled with gifts that overflowed from the small round table and onto the chairs, a few larger ones propped up on the floor. Cullen gently let Diana down, shutting the door. Crackling wood filled the room with warmth and Diana crouched near the fire, holding her hands near it to warm them.

“I suppose I have a lot to explain,” Diana finally sighed, crossing over to the bed and sitting on the edge. Her shoulders were dropped slightly, fingers tangling together in her lap. The feral edge Cullen had seen in her was gone, no longer the pacing beast in a cage. This woman, his wife, was left in its place. He dragged one of the stools out from the table, a foot dragging in bumps as it traveled over the uneven floor. Setting it in front of Diana, he sat, taking her hands in his. His thumbs dragged over the back of her hands, trying to memorize the feeling once again.

“I do have a lot of questions,” Cullen spoke softly. Diana nodded, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. “When- I mean… Mia?” A tinkling laughter rang as Diana smiled, tilting her head to the side. Her hair fell like a river of auburn locks, catching the firelight wonderfully.

“Well, when a man and woman lay together-” She jumped back on the bed as Cullen reached forward with a playful growl. Her grin was bright while she continued to roll backwards out of reach, ending with both of them pounced on either end of the bed. Cullen kicked off his boots, crawling up to Diana before letting his body fall onto the soft mattress. Diana rolled over into his arms, nesting her back against his chest.

“I know how children are made, dearest. Just, why ‘Mia’?” Cullen mumbled into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Would you have preferred I named her after my tyrant of a mother? You met her, she was an absolute terror. Besides, ‘Mia’ felt right,” Diana nodded, twisting her fingers inbetween Cullen’s. A moment passed and Diana groaned. “I missed her birthday.” Cullen sat up, pulling Diana towards him.

“She didn’t say anything. I know Dorian disappeared with her for a day, but she never mentioned it,” he muttered, his hands now dancing up and down her arms, tracing the gentle curve of muscle that came from carrying a staff. Goosebumps appeared beneath his fingertips and he held her closer. “Diana-”

“I’m sorry. I should have tried harder to get to you. Between Corypheus and Samson, I was never out of sight and-” The words tumbled out until Cullen tilted her head to the side, his waiting kiss sliding from her cheek to her lips. Her hands froze in the air where they had been gesticulating, fingertips humming slightly before a wave of relaxation ran down her body. Falling like leaves, her hands landed on his forearms. She gripped there gently, and he could feel the chill that ran down her spine against his chest.

Supporting her, Cullen shifted Diana from his chest to the bed until he sat in front of her on his knees. His hand slid up her back, dancing over the laces up the back of her dress and into her hair before letting his lips return to hers. A ghost of a moan made Diana’s lips part sweetly, something shifting in her body that made his own respond.

    "Maybe I could have-"

         "Diana, shush." Cullen's words breathed over her lips, silencing her once more. He could feel her fingers mapping his shoulders, feeling up and down his arms as if to make certain he was truly there. Traveling down her spine, Cullen let his fingers catch the strings, pulling tight before the silken ties gave away. In return, Diana's touch moved to his front, unraveling the cord that held his shirt together. Fingertips slid over the newest scars, shaking a little under the tingle of magic that tickled across his skin. Cullen gently grabbed her wrist, turning her palm outward so he could press kisses to each finger in turn. Diana reached up, dragging her nails across his scalp to tangle in his curls, amused by their length.

     "When was the last time you cut you hair?" She tugged gently, listening to the slight growl as his lips pulled back to nip at the tender underside of her forearm. He held her arm out like a long-stemmed rose, inspecting each inch with his mouth. Tiny crescent indents showed where his teeth bit and claimed, making a trail up past the crook of her arm.

    "I thought you liked it long," Cullen grumbled, darting his tongue out to taste the freckles that began on her arms. Diana tugged his hair again, smiling up at him.

    "I do. I just know how much of a pain it is to take care of your hair."  The fabric of the dress began to sag, loosening around until it lay on her like a blanket. Whispers of scars still lay on her skin like tiny veins, little valleys that his fingertips mapped. Each one told a story, he knew from experience. The ragged edges of this one on her shoulder said torn, the one in the center of her chest spoke stabbed, another along the length of her neck screamed burnt, and each received a trail of kisses in turn. No matter where his fingers wandered, a scar was there to meet him. Another of those scrollwork tattoos framed the bony outline of her wide hips and he was surprised to see the shadow of stretch marks, feeling altogether different from the rest of the scars. His lips trailed down the valley of her breasts, pulling the dress along with him until it gathered around her hips. Looking up at Diana, Cullen pulled the tangled dress over the swell of her buttocks, kissing the fingerlike marks the longest. A kick, and the dress soared across the room to land in a heap near the door. Her smalls kept her most private places secret for now, but the spiderweb of scars that spun deeper along her thighs and hips made Cullen's blood boil.

    "Who..." He began to ask, busying his mouth with kissing every inch he could reach, his vision turning red as he felt her breath hitch. The fingers that had been dragging languidly over his shoulders stopped, and he could feel the bite of her nails into his flesh.

    "No one who can touch me now, except the obvious." She was quiet, turning her head to gaze at the fire. The flames cast a burning red glow in her eyes, mimicking the dangerous past.

    "Do you regret it? Getting cured?" Cullen began to crawl back up her body, his smile returning when his dragging fingertips raised goosebumps along the plane of her stomach. Her eyes closed, shaking her head gently before turning on her side to face him.

   "I miss the _power_ it gave me, but I should never have had that. You know better than anyone how lyrium drives you. I felt like I could crush the world with a single thought." The Anchor burned on her palm, green flames licking against her curled fingers as she remembered the burn of energy surging in her muscles. Cullen smoothed his hand along her arm, claiming her hand and silencing the Anchor.

    "It erases your spirit. I wouldn't trade this for any power in Thedas," he mumbled, watching her eyes drinking him in. He could spend eternity memorizing her face and still find something new to stare at each time. The years hadn't seemed to touch her features, but this close, he could see the decade of stress had wrinkled the corners of her eyes. Taking her chin gently in his fingers, he tilted her head up to kiss her once more. Her smile preluded a bevy of nervous giggles, turning to laughter as Cullen pulled her on top of his lap, straddling him.

    "Speaking of spirit, you've been taking this slow. That's a change." A blush tracked up from her chest, turning her skin rosy as his smile brought a glint to his eyes. Before, their lovemaking had been only the few stolen moments, quiet and fast before anyone could walk in on them.

    "Maker forbid I want to take my time with you," Cullen huffed, a chuckle rumbling through his body in a way that made Diana bite her lip. "Don't do that. You know that's cheating." Diana pouted slightly, her hips moving fluidly to rock in his lap until a loud groan answered her movements.

    "Cheating? I can't _possibly_ know what you mean," she cooed, tossing her head back until her spine arched, a gasp rolling up her body as Cullen gripped her waist and ground up.

Her hair was liquid fire, flowing behind her in a burning halo around her pale form. At this angle, he could see every part of bared flesh and read the map of her body. Her chest looked fit to burst against her breastband, a sheen of sweat making her skin shimmer in the firelight.  Her head lolled to the side and she gave him a cocky grin, sliding her hands beneath the hem of his shirt. The skin there jumped beneath the feather light invasion and her fingers dragged on, the tips of her nails barely brushing against the trail of fine hairs as she hiked his shirt up. His own scars were straight and fine, the result of several near misses scattered over his sides. She bent over, sliding along the length of his body to kiss at them, an apology whispered into each one.

    Cullen slipped his shirt off, sweating as the cabin felt all too hot. A happy purr curled through Diana and her hands, always on the move, wound their way to his breeches.

"Diana-"

"I want to." Their words were raspy, near whispers layered with want. Cullen nearly leapt to his knees, raising Diana onto her own knees before kissing her again. Their tongues did battle, sparring against each other before pulling away with shared gasps. Fingers dragged in long streaks across skin, and teeth nipped at flesh until the air was full of sighs and whines. In the tangle of limbs, Cullen’s breeches joined the long forgotten dress, leaving both in their smalls. They wrestled across the bed, constantly switching places. Cullen had the advantage until a well placed nip made him shirk away, giving Diana the high ground as she tumbled over him. It wasn’t until a surge of strength sent Diana nearly falling off the bed that Cullen grabbed her arms, pulling her close with breathy laughs. A pale thigh was pinned between his, the swell of his manhood pressed against her clothed sex, and the sound she made was honey sweet in his ears.

“ _Cullen_.” His hands couldn’t move fast enough. The few clothes they still wore were too tight, too much, and in his haste, the flimsy breastband tore in his grasp. His nose nuzzled against the rosy peaks of her breasts, breathing warm air onto Diana’s skin until it chilled and she breathed his name again.

“ _Cullen_.” Her fingers were clumsy, pulling this and that until Cullen’s hands came under her buttocks and lifted her, sliding the shear cloth away where it was forgotten on the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he sat up, pulling her onto his lap. Cullen’s fingers gripped the swell of her thighs, his breathing loud in her ear as she used her feet to slowly slide his smalls down. It wasn’t until her frustrated growl permeated the cloud of sighs that Cullen scrambled to rip them off. A moment of struggling ended as his member was freed. Diana wrapped her arms around Cullen’s neck, twining her fingers in his hair before sitting down, her lips spreading at the touch of his cock.

“ _Cullen_.” Time was meaningless in this closeness. Skin to skin, lips to lips, and the line that separated them was indistinguishable. They could feel their hearts pounding as one while Cullen moved in her. Diana’s fingers held onto the back of his neck, the effort of holding on enough to make her eyes close. The deepest parts of her quivered around him and Cullen groaned, cradling her head and back before rolling them over onto the bed.

“ _Cullen_.” This time, it was tight, nearly shattering in her throat, and Cullen thrust harder. The sounds of their lovemaking were familiar and he knew the small whine that now ended each of her deep breaths. One hand slid between them, moistening against their joined sexes before traveling up her valley to the small precious nub. A lazy circle made her clench tightly around him. He paused a moment and her hips snapped up to take the rhythm, a mirror of his growl ripping through her chest. One tap, a deep thrust, a pinch and…

“ _Cullen!_ ” The ripples of her orgasm started deep before her back arched, his name turning into a shout that seemed to flow from her center. Her stomach clenched and, deep within, his own orgasm raced to meet her. Diana’s eyes flickered open once before clenching shut, rolling back under closed lids as her body clenched around Cullen. She could hear him grunting her name even as the rushing of blood moved her past euphoria.

_“Cullen?”_

**_Is that who protects you now?_ **

_Red eyes glowing in the darkness, reaching through the Fade, sparkling off a field of broken glass. Chains around shoulders, around hands. around hearts. Glowing green in the Fade-light, a tear falling from golden eyes as golden voices scream golden refusals. Never again. Never again._

_**Never again shall you be free.** _

_Come to me, child,_

_And I shall embrace you._

_In my arms lies Eternity._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is almost over. Feels kinda weird. Lemme know what you think please!   
> As always, thank you for reading!


	18. The Breath Before The Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her feet couldn’t move fast enough. Sleep and the cold chill made her feel torturously slow while several people raced past her. Each had the same look of confusion, of fear, and they all looked to the sky.

         It came as dawn crept over the mountain's edge, casting a rosy hue on the white snow. The horn blew once, then again, bringing with it the bloodcurdling screams. Mia jerked awake, listening as the ancient Chantry came to life. Rushing feet and shouted commands filled the halls until it echoed through the side chamber she had been sharing with Leliana and Josephine.

         "Josie, what's..." Mia trailed off--She was alone. The sheets had been ripped off, haphazardly draped off the foot of the bed. She rose, dressing quickly in robes, and grabbed her staff. The brief thrill of magic was quelled as another scream rent the air. Mia looked to the door, a fear taking hold of her as the scream echoed again. She knew that scream.

         Her feet couldn’t move fast enough. Sleep and the cold chill made her feel torturously slow while several people raced past her. Each had the same look of confusion, of fear, and they all looked to the sky. The ever-present green scar glowed like a constant sun, adding contrast to the waking sky. Mia stopped as she ran through the giant doors, looking about for the source. A shout rose from the frozen lake and she ran again. A crowd had gathered in a semi-circle around a pile of something, a great many lengths away from the slightly glowing stacks. Figures were racing back and forth along the crowd, but it was the one with the green hand that garnered her attention before racing off again. Now with purpose, Mia’s limbs moved smoothly, focus letting her nearly slide past the waiting guards. She appeared a ghostly figure to any who noticed, only another shout stopping her.

         “No! Go find Mia, keep her away from this!” Cullen shouted to Josephine. He appeared hastily dressed, his hair a mess and a fur draped over his shoulders in place of a coat. She moved faster through the crowd, already feeling the searching eyes on her back. The crowd was a cloud of shouting and screams, growing louder and louder. Only years of listening guided Mia to her mother.

         “No. _C’est ma faute…_ ” Diana had a fur wrapped around her, nearly burying her face in the thick auburn mane. The color had drained from her face and panic made her eyes wide. Mia pressed against the slowly parting shoulders before stumbling into the clearing behind Diana. The Herald’s eyes had stopped scanning, fixated on the gruesome display before them all.

         What Mia had mistaken for large stones, possibly catapult ammo from the previous day’s practice, were helmeted heads. Each appeared to have been hacked off just above the collarbone, a dark pool under each one that stained the ice. The Orlesian masked helmets had the mouthpieces broken to reveal open screaming mouths, and from those gaping maws, a faint glow emanated. A few had rolled loose from their helmets, revealing tortured faces and distant eyes. The glow seemed to come from behind them. Mia stopped as the fur, once clenched in Diana’s tight hands, fell slowly to the ground. The farthest helmet seemed to claim Diana, making her stumble forward before falling to her knees. The bright yellow plume that bloomed from the tip of the headpiece rippled in the wind like a banner, and her fingers reached for it.

         “Mia! You shouldn’t be-” Cullen started, wrapping a thick blanket around Mia’s shoulders. A tight whine grew from Diana’s throat, crowning into low croon that sang sorrow. She had turned the helmet to face her, fumbling with the buckles for a moment, and a face greeted her. Male and older, the features were nearly identical to Diana. Laugh lines drew a mask around bright blue eyes, and he was the only one whose mouth was closed. A small smile seemed to say he accepted whatever had happened. Diana’s shoulders fell inwards, and her back curled until she had the helmet in her grasp, rocking slowly.

         “ _Oh, mon frère. Mon cher frère. Je suis désolé. Je suis tellement désolé,_ ” Diana whimpered weakly, “ _Vincent, Pour vous, je jure que je vais lui faire payer._ ”

         “A Chevalier-Commander?” Leliana whispered, coming up behind Mia. Her hand solidly held onto Mia’s shoulder. The wind was cut off as, slowly, Diana’s companions surrounded Mia. The whispers stilled the wind, growing into a cry before suddenly falling silent. Mia shivered as the hairs on her arms stood straight and the smell of ozone singed her nose.

         Diana was on her feet once more, staring at the head by her feet, fists clenched by her side. Her hand was trembling, green leaking out through her fingers to taint the ice around them. She took a step backwards, then another. Bowing her head to the corpses, Diana turned on her heel to face the crowd. Dorian grasped Mia’s free shoulder tightly as Diana opened her eyes.

         “Get ready to move out,” Diana spoke quietly, striding towards them resolutely, “We can’t stay here.” Murmurs traveled through those gathered as Leliana stepped to block Diana.

         “We’ve just finished fortifying Haven, and you want to leave?” Mia trembled as a murderous look twisted her mother’s face. Diana’s right hand was curled into a claw, magic jumping between her fingertips, and only the tiny amount of self-restraint kept her from throwing the spell in a fit.

         “There is lyrium in those heads. In an hour, it will reach the gate. In two, all of Haven.” Diana stepped close to Leliana, their noses brushing as Diana snarled. “If you wish to stay, be my guest.” There was a moment of silence before Diana side-stepped the crowd, marching towards Haven.

         The companions watched Diana make her way to the gates, a magic-filled punch making them swing open with a loud crash before she disappeared.

         “ _Mon frère_. I will kill you,” Cole whispered, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Varric patted Cole’s back, joining in the shared looks before looking to Mia. She was staring at the head, her own fingers trembling from the cold.

         “He… Corypheus wouldn’t do this, Varric,” she whispered, her teeth chattering against the cold. Varric’s eyebrows jumped, mimicking The Iron Bull as he did the same.

         “Why not?” Mia stepped away from the piles, the burn in the air making her stomach begin to turn.

         “He would just attack. Someone else did this for him. Dorian…” A fearful look made her appear so much younger for a moment, so much more innocent. Dorian thought for a moment before his own eyes grew wide. Sera was already in action, shooting each head until they had slid far across the ice into a distant mound.

         “Di’s right, we need to move. Varric?” Dorian spared a glance towards the young mage, then to Varric. Something made Varric’s heart sink while Cole bumped his shoulder, the spirit’s lips tight as he listened to Mia’s racing thoughts. Varric nodded.

         “Don’t worry, I got it.”

  
  


         On the distant mountain top, a red warrior watched the crowd filter back into Haven, turning the quiet valley into a bevy of movement and sound. At his back, several of the twisted once-templars itched in their armor. Their shifting set a few birds to the air.

         "Well?" One finally snarled, making their leader turn to face them. Red lyrium had taken his eyes and turned them into stones, hunks of ruby that matched his ruddy skin. A grimace was shared between them all. Their leader spared the lake one last glance before chuckling.

         "Tell the Elder One his message was received. Everything is as planned," Samson said, his voice layered with the power the lyrium now pumped through his body. Even as he spoke, a shaft of the cursed stone broke through his shoulder like a feathered plume, joining the mantle that was slowly growing there. "This will all be over soon."

 

* * *

  
  


         The camp they made was small, ready to be packed away the moment trouble reared its head. Diana wandered for a time until the campfires were like the tiny pinpricks in the sky, cold and searching. Her hand constantly ached now and the bloodlust, the madness everyone had seen 'cured', was a savage drumbeat in her ears.

         "Cullen would not want you to freeze to death out here." The voice was quiet. Diana didn't bother to turn to face it, still staring longingly at the stars a moment longer before answering.

         "Then it’s a good thing Cullen doesn't know where I am." The pause was thick with unasked questions that tingled on the tip of her tongue, but she chose a different route. "I should have listened to Cassandra. No matter how useful you were, she knew you were too convenient, Solas." Her gaze left the sky to see Solas leaning next to a tree trunk. His smile quirked his cheek before returning to the passive stare she knew well.

         "Yet, you did not. Was it the supposed solidarity of apostates that saved me the Seeker's ire?" Diana half expected him to sit as he always did. He did not.

         "No. We needed you. I couldn't afford to turn away any assistance." A pack of wolves howled in the distance, making the pair stop to listen. They chorused for awhile, rising and falling in a fine opera. "Why are you still here?" Solas tilted his head in question. Diana's eyes were closed, her bottom lip bitten between her teeth until the plump skin broke under the pressure. Solas could see the rich crimson blood against the bone white as it trickled onto her tongue. A few drops fell to the pure snow.

         "There's something I require."

                   "The orb," Diana choked out, the pain in her hand rising suddenly. Solas stepped forward, his fingers outstretched before rearing back, a soft chuckle muted by the snow.

         "You are not cured. Your body may be-”

> _“None of your forces have returned to claim you, nor any demands sent. Would they give you up so easily, ‘Herald’?” Diana kept her eyes downcast, her whole body shivering under his gaze. There was something much too sane in his eyes for her to challenge. Corypheus grew closer, tracing the newest glowing scar with the tip of his finger. “Do they know you are a lost cause? Merely a servant, a sacrifice to their rightful god?” The lyrium under her skin flared to life, splintering and glowing brightly until it wrenched a scream so loud, the birds seemed to echo it as they took to the air.  “Does this appear to be a woman of sound mind? No, no amount of trades or promises would make me give away my prize. She is mine. Your feeble Inquisition, no more. That I have not yet squashed your remaining forces is a kindness.” Corypheus’s hand dropped to his side, turning his back. “Tell your advisors this. Submit to me, and be spared.”_

         Diana screamed as the vision passed, falling to her knees before Solas. He was not unmoved--She could see his hands flex at his sides. His face was dark as he watched her eyes roll wildly.

         “There are wounds no potions can touch,” Solas whispered as Diana bit back another cry, the Anchor tearing at her hand. Tendrils of green had begun to work up her forearm in a maze of emerald spirals. “Without the lyrium to feed from, the Anchor will kill you.”

         Diana crawled onto her feet, pulling herself up slowly along the flaky bark of a tree. Ice covered needles rained down on them for a moment. Panting, she glared at Solas.

         “I don’t have the orb and you know it.” Solas chuckled again, rolling his eyes before surging forward. His hand caught her shoulder and pinned it to the trunk, holding her painfully tight. She reached to pull a spell from the air, only to have his other hand pin her wrist above her head, palm tilted down towards her own face. The chilling green glow cast long shadows down both of their faces.

         “I don’t have time for your games, _Inquisitor_. Tell me where it is.” His teeth were pulled back into a threatening snarl, all familiarity gone from his face. Solas’s shoulders were hunched up, making the fur ruffle into a mane of raised hackles.  Diana’s teeth snapped back at him, missing the tip of his nose by a hair.

         “I don’t know where the fucking orb is, Solas.” Solas stilled, the snarl turning into a grin--Something in her voice had caught his attention. He held her a moment longer before dropping her to the ground. He brushed his hands along his coat as if he had touched something dirty.

         “But someone does,” He whispered, turning his back to Diana to face the camp, eyes already narrowed and searching. Diana was already moving, her hands already wrapped around the haft of her forgotten staff. There wasn’t enough room to spin her weapon around between the trees.

         An icy chill ran down her spine as Solas asked clearly, turning his head only enough for her to see the glimmer in his eyes.

         “Where is Mia?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done. This last chapter will be loooooong.  
> As always, reviews, comments, and questions are always welcome.
> 
> Actually, yeah, ask LOTS of questions!


	19. A Moment's Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inside of the makeshift War Room was warm and bright with a large fire pit in the center. To his surprise, there were several people busying about, each with purpose. The allies Josephine had spoke of had finally appeared from the woodworks. Behind a screen, Cullen could make out the table itself. A group was already gathered around it.

         Cullen stirred from his sleep, lifting his head from the mass of snoring blonde curls in front of him. The tent he had finally collapsed in was small, but Diana had insisted they rest before continuing the trek ahead of them. At some point, Mia had crawled in between them. Curled into a tiny ball, the three of them held each other close until sleep claimed them. Mia had slightly uncurled during the night, her mouth hanging open as another snore made a stray curl flutter above her nose. Cullen took his time watching her, letting his mind wander in the quiet. This was his daughter. His child. His heart ached as his imagination created dreams of cradling her as a newborn, watching her walk, her first words yelled in excitement while he looked to Diana…

         The spot Diana had been sleeping in was empty. Cullen gently reached over to feel the slightly disturbed furs. They were cold, no hints of warmth anywhere in the folds. Sunlight streaked through the slightly open fold of the tent and, through the gap, he saw a thick striped pant leg. The sunlight grew for a moment, casting shadows through the thick canvas. The Iron Bull was definitely standing guard in front of the tent. Beside him, Varric fiddled nervously with a few knobs on Bianca. A light whisper made Cullen look to the low-set roof. The shadow was skewed, but the wide-brimmed hat said Cole was perched delicately on top. Even more surprising was the congenial conversation from the opposite side of the tent, Alistair’s warm laughter breaking the cold silence that seemed to hold the camp in a stony grip.

         “Has she said anything?” Alistair asked lowly, the frown evident in his voice as he allowed The Iron Bull’s chortling laughter to cover up the sound. Varric shook his head in tiny degrees.

         “Worry. For her, for him, for them. I won’t let them suffer for me again. It hurts,” Cole shivered, making the walls of the tent waver. A chill ran up Cullen’s spine. Mia curled closer to his chest, and he hugged her tighter.

         “He won’t leave, and I wouldn’t ask him to. Brave man, but losing her would kill him.” This gravely voice was less familiar, coming from the more slight shadow standing next to Alistair. Her hands moved as she spoke until Alistair reached over to wrap his hand around hers. Rose shrugged, leaning into her husband. Cullen rolled over gently, sliding Mia into the pile of furs. He watched a moment longer, waiting for her to curl into the furs. Above him, Cole hummed a quiet lullaby. Mia smiled, rolling into the furs before snoring again.

         The gathered crowd of guards were quiet as Cullen pulled the tent cover shut. People were stationed just beyond the shimmering dome that covered the tent, each with a thin layer of sparkling ice on their armor. An agent was already standing ready with a clipboard in hand.

        “The Inquisitor requests your presence at the War Table at your earliest convenience, Commander.” In his free hand, the long crimson coat fluttered in the wind. Brown and auburn fur shivered as if alive along the hem. Cullen took it slowly, a tiny smile warming him.

         “Thank you, Jim. With me,” Cullen nodded, fastening the coat around his neck before marching towards the great tent.

  
  


 

         The inside of the makeshift War Room was warm and bright with a large fire pit in the center. To his surprise, there were several people busying about, each with purpose. The allies Josephine had spoke of had finally appeared from the woodworks. Behind a screen, Cullen could make out the table itself. A group was already gathered around it.

         “His forces have already been seen as far as Redcliffe,” First Enchanter Fiona said, pointing towards a cluster of figures on the map. Leliana was standing beside her, hand held out as an agent flitted by and pressed a scroll into her palm.

       “Our reports confirm this, Inquisitor. At least a force of thirty soldiers and many more of those creatures stormed the valley just after we left,” Leliana answered, “It appears we left just in time.” The scroll pulled tight between her fingers for a moment, then snapped shut. Across the table, Josephine’s quill danced along a page. A small elven woman seemed to have been commandeered to carry the multitude of contracts and letters, passing relevant documents from the pile stacked high on a small table to the Ambassador with speed.

         “The last letter we received from the Herald’s Hand also supports this. They have moved a group of forces to trail them until a proper ambush can be set up,” she frowned, placing another figure on the map, just beyond the valley that protected Redcliffe. “They also send their condolences, Inquisitor.”

         Like the eye of a storm, Diana stood in the midst of it all. A stone figure rolled between her fingertips, her eyes burning into the parchment in front of them. Stillness sat on her shoulders while she listened. At her side, one of the Avvar warriors spoke softly to a Qunari bedecked in crimson and gray. How the giant warriors had found their way to the camp was beyond him, but the help was welcome. Diana nodded occasionally, letting the advisors do the talking.

         “Commander, welcome.” Josephine spared him a smile. The others paused in their duties to acknowledge him, all save Diana. Before Cullen could ask, a list was set on the table of locations, each matching a miniature scaled token on the map. He took the time to look it over before speaking.

         “I appreciate your presence, Thane Sun-Hair. The Avvar are always welcome in the Inquisition. Might I inquire to how the Qun found us?” The Qunari grinned, sliding another miniature ship into place on the map. The fleet was spread out along the greater half of Ferelden's coast to create a solid wall of ships. Each token had several smaller tokens stacked on top, the forces each could unload onto the beaches. A shared glance with Leliana gave Cullen a shiver--Her answering nod spoke enough.

         “The Arishok wishes for this conflict to end as much as you do. At his personal command, he has sent a force to join the Inquisition. There is no point in spreading the Qun if there is no one to listen,” he answered, scratching at the base of his horns.

         “Should I pretend that you didn’t answer my question, then?” Cullen frowned. His gaze shot to Diana, awaiting her bemused smirk. It never came. The flap of the tent fluttered for a moment as Rose slipped inside. A brief nod was shared between them before she addressed the Qunari.

         “ _Shanedan_ , Ozken. I trust Sten isn’t too angry I had to rough up one of his commanders?” This seemed to amuse the warrior. His salute to Rose was brief, making Cullen wonder just how many the slight Queen had ‘roughed up’ before she earned the Arishok’s respect.

         “Not at all, _Basalit-an Ash-Maraas_. It was a long time coming.” The next words died on his lips as Diana stood from her long-held crouch. She rubbed her eyelids a few times before making a small movement with her fingers, just the tiniest of flicks. Every servant in the room exited on cue. After the rustle of moving canvas faded, the crackling from the main fire pit kept them silent. A breathy sigh broke through Diana’s lips, and she began to speak.

         “As you all know, we have a common enemy. Corypheus.” Her gaze slid across the gathered allies, finally resting on the map in front of them. Picking up one of the red painted tokens, Diana let it tumble into her palm before holding it up between her fingertips. “I don’t have to tell you that he’s dangerous. He will stop at nothing to destroy everything we stand for.” With a delicate tap, she placed the figure back over Redcliffe, rejoining the fray. She stared at it with a viciousness that seemed to make the room hum. “He is not our only concern now.” The stone symbol rolled from her palm across the table, thumping along the parchment until it clacked against the symbol that marked their current camp. A crudely carved canine head with bared teeth, the open jaws of the figure seemed to consume the camp in maw and shadow. “Solas deigned to make an appearance. As of last night, he has yet to obtain the orb.”

         “The last we saw of it, and him, was over ten years ago, Inquisitor,” Josephine interjected. Her fingers shook. Whether it was from the apparent betrayal or the cold was unknowable. Diana nodded.

         “The same for myself. A decade in that fortress and I never saw hide nor hair of it. Solas seems convinced that Mia knows where it is.” Diana finally looked to Cullen. Her eyes were bloodshot, a shadow of a bruise peeking out from her collar. Her air was simultaneously fearful and fearsome.

         “Hence the battalion around the tent?” His voice was strained. Creaking, his leather gloves betrayed his anger.

         “Between a few protection spells and the help of Cole, Solas would have to march directly into camp to find her. She is well protected, Commander,” Fiona interrupted softly. A shared look between her and Diana calmed Cullen a little.

         “Nevertheless, Solas has made attacks on us, making him an enemy of the Inquisition. Should he or any of his allies stand between us and our goal, he is to be given no quarter.” The words were cold, an undercurrent of sadness chilling the room for a moment. “I… I fear I must be selfish for a moment. Solas asked about Mia. Whether he intends to use her as leverage or information, I don’t really care. Where we’re going, she cannot follow,” Diana sighed wearily. The movement made her appear years older, the stress of ages pressing down upon her. Josephine opened her mouth to speak.

         “Inquisitor, we-”

                   “His royal majesty has requested to escort your daughter to safety, Herald.” A shocked expression traveled the room to focus on Rose. Her stance was absolute, confident. Not once had she bothered to look at the map--Decades of traveling had left it engrained in her mind. A small gryffon had been placed next to the campsite with a casual knock against the canine symbol. The wolf clattered over, rolling into the mountains. Rose placed her hands on the table. “Alistair and I have discussed this at length. As the rightful king of Ferelden, no matter the outcome, he must survive. There are several secret places he and Mia can go. I will stay to protect you, Herald. My status as a Grey Warden may be questionable, but my oaths stand true.” In her intense gaze, a cloudy fog had taken hold of her irises, making her look distant. It was the sight that belonged to sages. No more questions were raised.

 

* * *

  
  


         “I know what you’re thinking.” Diana’s head jerked up as the near silence was broken. She was seated before the fire pit, leaning in close enough for the flames to lick up at her. After hours of planning and negotiations, the allies had retreated to their forces, readying for their next migration. The giant tent had been left empty for Diana to relax in, seeming almost barren without the multitudes packed inside. Looking through the flames, she could make out Rose on the other side, perched in a chair with her feet kicked up. Rose’s eyes were closed in a facade of calm while her feet warmed against the fire. The wind howled wickedly, making the tent shake for a moment.

         “That we’re just repeating ourselves, doomed for destruction?” Diana looked down at her tightly closed fist. In her grasp, something jumped and squeaked. It made her stomach churn wickedly. Rose’s laugh was a bark not unlike her mabari’s, short and sharp. Her chair creaked as her feet returned to the ground. Reaching into her bag, Rose took out a few flat stones and set them close to the fire.

         “Why did I cure myself?” Rose asked, her lips curling like she tasted something bitter. “Why did I take away my power? If I could, would I take it back?” She looked up to meet Diana’s shocked expression and laughed again, letting her body fall into her seat with a loud thump.

         “But your curse-”

                   “My choice.” Rose growled, her lips curling up in a snarl. Diana had hears the rumors of the Couslands’ ferocity. In the face of Ferelden's queen, ‘dog lord’ seemed more a title of honor than an insult. Her shoulders stayed raised a moment longer before she relaxed, her fingers steepling on her stomach. “Everyone thinks the charge of the Wardens is a curse, doomed to a terrible end by madness. I chose to join the Wardens to avenge my family, not save the whole world. My choice was one made of blood and anger, but its my choice all the same.” She spoke confidently, her words filling the room until the wind was little more than whispers. “As Bann Cousland’s daughter, nothing was expected of me but to marry and create more nobles. After Howe’s men killed my family and left me for dead, I was asked to join the illustrious Grey Wardens. With a twisted scar on my throat and a silver gryffon on my arm, the world feared me. I could make whole races bow to my whim, all in the name of survival.” Rose’s gaze grew distant, staring into the flames like some long wreckage now forgotten, still roaring in her mind. “I cornered Howe like a rat in a cage,” she continued quietly, “And slew him as such.” She looked up at Diana, her eyes tired. “I can’t remember the exact words. As he died, he called me the monster he created. Its true. I was no longer a soft girl playing with knives. I was a killer, and I liked it.”

         “You said there was a power?” Diana whispered. The Warden had her enthralled. The story of the Queen Warden had been told time and time again in the camps. To hear it from the source showed a darkness that failed to follow the fairy tales. Rose snorted.

         “Power, of course. Wardens can sense the darkspawn, and we’re the only ones who can truly kill an archdemon. Centuries of existence and diplomatic power hold more to the common folk than the ability to kill. My power came from my name. It still does, I suppose.”

         Diana sat back, sipping from her glass pensively. Rose stood, walking the perimeter of the fire pit until she stood next to the Herald. This close, Diana could see the details on the traditional armor. It was tarnished and dented with a history of battle. Only the Gryffon appeared untouched, polished again and again.

         “‘In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death…’” Rose sighed, closing her eyes as she spoke, “‘Sacrifice.’ That is the Warden's pledge. My duty. No matter your choice, Herald, I will stand by your side to the end.”

         “Is that why you sent Alistair away?” Diana watched as Rose’s lips drew into a thin line, a small quiver in her bottom lip.

         “For the same reason you’re sending Mia away.” A long look was shared before they looked back into the dancing flames. “Monsters aren’t evil.”

         _I am no monster,_ Diana thought, looking down at her clenched hand. A red glow shone through between her fingers as something angry battered itself against the glass vial she held. _I will be more_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this into two chapters. Next chapter will be the last.   
> Please comment with your thoughts, questions, and constructive criticism.  
> Thank you for reading!


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